Do You Play?
by Esperata
Summary: My first venture into Batman fanfics, featuring two of my favourite villains - Scarecrow and the Mad Hatter. As the King said 'Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end'.
1. Do You Play

Jervis Tetch sat by himself and tried not to be noticed. Not that it was difficult. All his life Jervis had been a nobody. Being ignored was his natural state of being. Not like the Mad Hatter… No! He stopped himself. That was a fantasy, an illusion he'd created. He was Jervis Tetch, the nobody. He sighed. He'd have to get used to being ignored again it seemed.

"Do you play?" He looked up surprised. A tall lanky figure stood over him. He stared blankly up. The man repeated himself with a bored air.

"Do you play?" The voice spoke of disinterestedness and weariness. Jervis wondered briefly if it was the medication or simply being locked up here. The man sighed in disappointment and began to turn away.

"Um… I do play." This earned him a raised eyebrow and a curious glance. After a moment's consideration the man sat opposite him.

"Well, you can hardly be worse than Two-Face."

"Two-Face?" Jervis queried while setting out the pieces.

"Yeah. He decides every move on the toss of a coin." The man opposite was idly glancing round the room, giving Jervis a chance to look more closely at him. He didn't recognise him from the rogue's gallery and for that he was grateful. They were all psychopathic madmen and Jervis didn't want to get mixed up with them. The man sitting with him looked normal enough, if overly tall and somewhat scrawny… but then this was Arkham. His opponent suddenly looked back at him and Jervis smiled nervously.

"White first." With a start, he looked down at the board to consider his strategy. Not knowing his opponent, he decided to keep things simple to test his strength, so to speak. As he moved his first piece his companion spoke again.

"You're the 'Mad Hatter', aren't you?"

"Jervis Tetch," he replied firmly. His doctor had been quite strict that if he wanted to make a full recovery and get out of here then he had to resist thinking of himself as the 'Mad Hatter'. And he did want to get out of here.

"I see they've been giving you 'the speech'."

"The speech?

"They give it to everyone when they arrive." He waved a hand dismissively as with the other he deftly took one of Jervis' pawns. His eyes met Jervis' again but this time there was a glint in them. "They're just trying to use your fear against you."

"My fear?"

"Most people live their lives in fear. Fear of not being accepted, fear of doing the wrong thing… basically the fear that other people will see them as they _really_ are." He leant across the board. "And if you reject your fear? Break free from it's restraints? They lock you away." He sat back.

"I don't think that's true." His companion raised an eyebrow again.

"No?"

"We're locked away because we've done bad things. Because we… lost control."

"Lost control… or regained control? Society is governed by myriads of rules. Oh, not just the laws, but social etiquette and pack instinct and hundreds of other built in responses, programmed into us from earliest childhood. But why should we obey them? Because everyone else does? Because we're _told_ to? Because we _fear_ what will happen if we don't? History is littered with men who've dared to look beyond the accepted and challenged the status quo. Now they're revered but in their own time they were often called mad."

"But many of those called mad then, _were_ mad." His companion smiled.

"And who defines madness? The ignorant masses? The elected representatives? One man's madness is another man's genius." Jervis couldn't think of a smart reply so he considered his next move in silence. For a few moments they continued quietly, then Jervis' thoughts were interrupted again.

"I am but mad north-north-west; when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw." His companion watched him with interest.

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so." Jervis agreed, carefully moving his rook. His opponent nodded, apparently pleased with this reply.

"You are not wrong, who deem, that my days have been a dream."

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." Jervis replied.

"'Tis wonderful what fable will not do! 'Tis said it makes reality more bearable." Jervis thought a moment, playing piece held suspended.

"But what's reality? Who has it's clue?" He carefully placed the piece and began again. "I can repeat poetry as well as other folk if it comes to that -" That made the man laugh. It was an odd laugh but Jervis was pleased to get such a good reaction.

"Well played! Perhaps we'll play again another time." The taller man stood up. Jervis leant back in his chair and considered the chess board abandoned in front of him. In a couple of moves he'd have had his king cornered. Somebody didn't like to lose, he thought with a smile.

Across the room his companion was scowling at another prisoner who had apparently said something inappropriate. Jervis saw him whisper something and the other man visibly paled. A guard also noticed.

"Alright Crane. Back to your cell." Jervis cocked his head to one side. Crane? He'd heard that name before. His eyes widened as he suddenly remembered. The Scarecrow. Jonathan Crane.

_____________________________________________________________________

The quotes above are from 'Hamlet' – Shakespeare, 'A Dream Within a Dream' – Poe, 'Don Juan' – Byron, and 'Through the Looking Glass' – Carroll.


	2. We're All Mad Here

Jervis had heard the screams of the Batman as he was brought in. Cries of '_Robin!_' and '_Joker's got a bomb!_'. He couldn't deny he was pleased the Bat had finally been locked away. It was really quite unfair that _he_ had been branded a criminal simply for a romantic endeavour, while the Batman was hailed as a hero for beating people up night after night. He was just like the bullies at school. Popular because they were attractive and sporty, and therefore allowed to do whatever they liked.

His pleasure wore off as he was kept awake by his cries. _Whoever would have thought the Batman would cry out for his mother?_ Then the alarm was sounded.

Jervis frowned. It could only mean he'd tried to escape. Surely Dr. Bartholomew had explained the only way out was by getting better? It was no good escaping because you'd be on the run and who wanted to live like that? Still, at least he might get some sleep now. He nodded off with the comforting thought that at least the Batman had finally been recognised for what he was.

"We're all mad here," he murmured.

The next morning at breakfast he picked up the previous night's events from numerous overheard conversations. Both guards and inmates were discussing it. Apparently, Scarecrow had been planning to infect Gotham's water supply from beneath the asylum. Jervis was impressed despite himself. It was an audacious scheme. He'd even managed to infect the Batman, which was why he'd ended up hallucinating in Arkham. But Jervis was shocked to discover that _they'd let him go._ He'd escaped and taken down the Scarecrow before his plan could unfold, so he was declared sane! Jervis gripped the edges of his tray and fumed.

The man dressed as a giant bat… spent last night screaming worse than all the other madmen put together… and still he was allowed to walk out the door! Without even a hearing! Where was the justice in that? He'd even attacked the guards for pity's sake! Jervis on the other hand, who'd been a model prisoner so far, and followed his doctor's advice, still didn't have a chance of parole for months or even years! He stabbed at his unappetising breakfast and wondered at the unfairness of it all.

*

It was three days until Jervis saw Jonathan again. The Scarecrow had been put in solitary after his stunt. It would have been longer but he'd been infected by his own fear toxin and the doctors apparently considered that punishment enough. Perhaps they hoped it would somehow teach him a lesson.

"How are you?" Jervis asked politely as he sat down opposite. Jonathan scowled at him. He looked terrible. His hair was even more unkempt than usual and he looked pale. Jervis didn't think it was wise to mention that his screams of terror had kept several inmates awake.

"How do you think?" He replied scathingly.

"It really is most unfair." Jervis glanced down to avoid Jonathan's mutinous stare. "They had the Batman here… locked away… and they let him go." Jonathan ground his teeth but said nothing. "If I had the Batman…" Jervis grinned, "I'd make sure he **never** escaped."

"If _you_ had the Batman? Do you seriously think _you_ could take on the Bat?" Jonathan's scorn was evident but Jervis had had several days to consider this.

"Not by violence." Jervis explained. "But what if I could offer him anything he wanted? Anything at all." Jonathan shook his head.

"You can't bribe the Bat."

"Ever drifting down the stream, lingering in the golden gleam, life, what is it but a dream?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, my dear, I could make the Batman dream he has the perfect life, so that he never wants to wake."

"You mean your mind-control?" Jervis inclined his head in confirmation. Jonathan gave this due consideration. "You'd need to get out of here first."

"It shouldn't be too hard. I could piece together a simple device from one of the guard's walkie-talkies, I think. I already found a tool." With an impressive sleight of hand he showed Scarecrow a paperclip.

"I could certainly create a distraction so you could 'borrow' one of the guard's radios." Jonathan said thoughtfully.

"Would you?" Jervis smiled hopefully.

"If it helps get rid of the Bat," Jonathan snarled, "I'd willingly risk another week in the hole."

____________________________________________________________________

The initial scene is a behind-the-scenes look at 'Dreams in Darkness', the episode immediately after Jervis has become the Mad Hatter.


	3. Sentence First, Verdict Afterwards

It had all been going so well! Scarecrow had orchestrated a masterly disruption. Somehow he'd attracted a colony of angry ants into the cafeteria, close by to someone who had a pathological fear of insects. The man had gone mad (or perhaps 'madder' was correct), hurling everything within his reach at the column of bugs. This had, naturally enough, resulted in a riot. Food, chairs and inmates had been flung about. It had been child's play in the ensuing chaos to 'borrow' a walkie-talkie from an unsuspecting guard.

Jervis had concealed himself as far from the chaos as possible and smashed the device. After secreting the required circuitry he left the remains on the floor. Undoubtedly the guard assumed it was trampled in the melee. He certainly hadn't been expecting Jervis to slip the mind control card on him later. After that it had been but a short walk to the outside and the Mad Hatter was free!

Even his Bat-trap had worked perfectly. He'd followed the Hatter's goons like a little lamb until SNAP! The trap had fallen into place beautifully. And he was in his very own dreamland. So _how_ had he escaped?

"Jervis? Are you even listening to me?" He looked up across the desk at Dr. Bartholomew. The doctor sighed. "I really thought you'd make a full recovery."

"Recovery? My dear doctor, do I look sick to you?"

"Jervis, why exactly do you think you were put in Arkham?"

"You're saying I must be mad else I wouldn't be here?" Jervis grinned.

"I'm saying it's not normal behaviour to control people's minds in order to make someone like you. You need to accept the fact that not everything is within your control." Jervis appeared to think about this.

"I think… knowledge once learnt cannot be unlearnt. Innocence lost cannot be re-found. I have realised that the world really is full of mad people. I'm mad, you're mad. The only difference is that some of us have _realised_. For that we're locked up here. How is that fair?"

"Why do you think I'm mad?" Jervis grinned wider.

"You must be or you wouldn't have come here." The doctor frowned.

"Specifically." Jervis' grin vanished.

"You let the Bat go. How is that the action of a sane man?"

"The Batman… is not what we're here to discuss." He sighed. "Jervis, You believe in an unobtainable reality. Most people have mediocre jobs, casual acquaintances and they settle for decent relationships. Personally I blame the media rather than yourself. We're bombarded by films and tales of perfect friends, ideal jobs and true love. It's no surprise that your expectations were unnaturally high. The sooner you can accept life isn't how it's portrayed on TV and in _books_ the sooner you'll get better." He glanced up at the clock. "We'll meet again in three days time. In the meanwhile, I think we should put you on olanzapine. You'll need to take one tablet just before lights-out. It will make you sleepy but that effect will diminish as you continue taking the drug." The doctor gave him a kindly look as the guards took him out. "You don't belong here Jervis."

*

"Jervis," Jonathan leant back in his chair to survey his companion. "Care for a game?" He gestured to the board and Jervis wearily sat down. He looked depressed and not at all interested in playing. Jonathan frowned. This wouldn't do at all. He wanted someone intellectually equal (nearly at any rate) to divert his mind in this prison.

"What's wrong with you?" Jervis looked up surprised then glanced down somewhat embarrassed. He focussed on moving his piece as he spoke.

"Oh, I've just been having a most depressing discussion with my doctor." Jonathan snorted.

"Really? What did he have to tell you?"

"Accept that life in mediocre, friends are rare and true love non existent." He sighed.

"Huh. It's certainly true life isn't always roses. In fact a lot of the time it's thorns. But just because the doctor's life is mediocre doesn't mean _ours_ have to be. I've had people try to put me down my whole life," he gritted his teeth as he said it. "But I showed them! I took what they threw at me and used it to make myself the Master of Fear! Everyone in here has rejected the mediocre and made themselves something more!" He gestured round. Joker was naturally prominent. Jonathan whispered.

"See what happened to the Joker? Bone white and chlorophyll green. Most men would think themselves freaks but not him. He's turned himself into the Clown Prince of Crime." He gestured across at Poison Ivy.

"And Pamela? Not content to watch the plants she loves suffer she reinvented herself. Not so much a job as a calling. And as for _true love_," Jonathan couldn't help but sneer the words, however he shot Harley a look. She was watching her puddin' adoringly. "In my opinion she's the craziest one in here, but there's no denying she loves the Joker_._" Jervis looked round in wonder. Everyone in here was beyond the ordinary but one thing still bothered him.

"Am I one of you?" Jonathan stared at him.

"Let me see," he said sarcastically. "You've got the costume and the name. You've been locked up by the Bat _and_ escaped to take him on. Of course you are!" Jonathan made his move before continuing. "The Batman's one of us too. He understands that people live in fear, follow rules without question. But he's decided to stop being afraid and to create his own order. Just like all of us try to. The difference is that _he_ has the _support _of the GCPD. _He_ doesn't get locked up in here."

"And when he does they let him go." Jervis said bitterly. Jonathan shrugged.

"We do what we can but in the face of such madness, what can any of us do?" He watched silently as Jervis considered his move then interrupted again. "Dr. Bartholomew's a fool anyway. _I_ could manage your treatment better."

"Could you?" Jervis queried as he placed his piece. Jonathan didn't look up but considered his own turn.

"No doubt. I _am_ a professor of psychology you know."

"Splendid!" Jonathan jumped as Jervis clapped. "When do we start?" He stared across the board to where Jervis was watching him with hopeful expectation. He'd opened his mouth to say '_I didn't mean I __**would**__ treat you._' when he reconsidered. It was awfully dull in Arkham and a project like this was tempting. A chance to use his mind and unravel the Mad Hatter's psychosis. Not to mention the opportunity to show up the so-called doctors.

"How about tomorrow?"


	4. Twinkling of the Tea

"Our lives are dictated by fear." Jonathan watched Jervis as he spoke. "Life may be seen as a series of choices, where every choice we make impacts on every other choice. If you move this pawn," he lifted Jervis' piece in demonstration, "you will no longer be able to castle your king. In this sense you may think the choice has restricted your options but similarly it opens other options. You may now move your knight forward." He moved the knight. Jervis watched politely. "But how do we make these choices? What prompts us to choose one move over the other? _Fear_. Fear that you will lose by one or other move." He leant back. "Every choice we make is because of fear. We choose to obey the guards because we fear what they might do to us… or because we fear they might take enough notice of disobedience to interfere with our plans." He snarled. "We eat the slop they laughingly call food because we fear hunger. Even our unconscious choice to continue breathing is an unconscious response to the in-built fear of death." He leant forward again. "The fact your choices have led you here, to Arkham, can be traced back to your fears. So, tell me… what do you fear?" Jervis stared at him.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand you." Jonathan sighed.

"I believe I can help you by knowing what it is you fear."

"Oh, well… really I'm not sure… I don't believe I have any what you might call phobias…"

"Fears don't have to be phobias to affect our lives. Do you fear what other people think of you?"

"Well," Jervis hesitated. "I do want people to like me."

"Exactly. This very obviously explains why you resorted to the mind-control devices. It was a desperate plea for people to like you. Even Dr. Bartholomew must have seen that?"

"Yes, yes he did. But that doesn't exactly help me."

"No, we have to go further than _that_. Why this desperate need for people to like you? What do you fear they'll do if they don't?" Jervis twisted his hands.

"Well, people aren't always very _kind_…"

"No," Jonathan sneered. "Unlike your so-called doctor, you don't have to elaborate that to _me_." Jervis considered Jonathan's suddenly twisted face. It occurred to him that whatever _he_ had experienced was probably not as bad as Jonathan.

"Nobody has ever been what I'd call _cruel_ to me," Jervis explained. "It's just that nobody has ever been _kind_ to me either."

"Ah." Jonathan relaxed back again. "Not bullied but ignored. So in a sense _any_ attention is better than _no_ attention."

"Well… yes. That's what made Alice so special." Jervis' face lit up. Jonathan was non-committal.

"Hmm?"

"She really liked me! She did."

"Really?" Jervis nodded. "Interesting. But we'll come to that later… we must follow this logically."

"Begin at the beginning and go on 'til you come to the end." Jervis grinned. Jonathan watched him impassively.

"How long have you been a fan of Lewis Carroll?"

"Oh, since I was very young." Jonathan steepled his hands before him.

"Do you remember when you first heard the story?" Jervis replied promptly.

"My mother read it to me. A chapter at bedtime."

"Did she read it every night?"

"No… some nights she was away. But when she was home she always read Lewis Carroll. Jonathan, my doctor has already been over this. There was no traumatic event linked to my love of Carroll. It just happens to be my favourite book."

"Things that may seem trivial to an adult may acquire extreme importance to a child." Jervis frowned.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Did it ever worry you when your mother was away?" Jonathan continued undeterred.

"Well, I suppose I was… upset by her absences. I was very young. I didn't understand then why she had to go..."

"Of course. You would have been a strange child not to worry over your mother's absences… especially when so young. But don't you see? You've linked the security of a maternal presence to Alice in Wonderland. In your child's mind the recital of Lewis Carroll equated with safety and security." Jervis cocked his head to one side.

"What's wrong with that?" Jonathan spread his hands.

"Nothing. It's a perfectly normal response. Most people have something similar. A security blanket or a teddy… Unlike your _doctor,_ I am not prejudiced to find you mad." Jervis sat back feeling somewhat relieved. He smiled

"So what's your _security blanket_? What habit do you have from your mother?" Jonathan's expression turned very dark.

"I **did not** equate my mother with _security._ _She_ **never** protected _me_. There's **nothing **of her left in me. Not even a memory!" He stood up and strode off. Jervis sat very still and watched Jonathan sit huffily down on the sofa. He was about to go over and apologise when he heard a soft voice chanting.

"_Hush_ little baby, don't say a word…" Jervis looked sadly at the Scarecrow.

"Nothing, Jonathan?" he whispered.


	5. A Cat Without a Grin

Jervis worried he might have seriously upset Jonathan. He'd not spoken again after the 'mother' reference and had merely sat reciting the childish rhyme, apparently completely unaware he was doing so. It would be typical of Jervis' life that he should find a friend only to lose him by some silly remark.

However Jonathan didn't seem at all perturbed the next day.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded. "You look like you're _frightened_." He watched Jervis sit down with interest.

"Oh no, nothing… I just slept badly that's all. Did you sleep well?"

"I never sleep well." Jonathan shrugged. "Sleep, those little slices of death."

"That's Poe again isn't it?" Jonathan nodded briefly. He continued to watch Jervis but the Mad Hatter was now smiling happily. Whatever had worried him had passed. Slightly disappointed, Jonathan returned his attention to the television.

Joker had infected Gotham's fish so they all had his trademark grin. It was one of his stranger schemes. Needless to say the Batman had interfered and the reporter was now announcing (not for the first time) the demise of the Clown Prince of Crime. Jonathan wasn't concerned a) because it was no loss to him, and b) because he doubted the Joker would stay dead. Jervis wasn't concerned because he'd not paid attention to anything that had happened.

"So what are we discussing today? Alice?" He asked hopefully.

"No," Jonathan transferred his attention back to Jervis. "I think we should focus on your childhood before we discuss more recent developments."

"Alright," Jervis shrugged. He waited for Jonathan to begin.

"You said your mother had to go out often?" Jervis was surprised to note Jonathan refer to 'mother' without so much as a flinch.

"Yes. My father had a menial job in a factory. It didn't pay well so my mother went out to work."

"Were there any," he hesitated slightly, "extravagances?"

"If you mean did they gamble or drink… no, they did not. They were perfectly normal parents wanting only the best for me." Jonathan raised his eyebrows.

"The best?"

"I went to a private school," Jervis explained. "My father… had difficulty reading so I was encouraged to read well beyond my years. I think he was concerned I should get the opportunities he never did. I did very well and won a scholarship."

"What was it like? At this school?"

"The teachers were excellent. We were pushed harder than the state pupils but we did better."

"And the pupils?" Jonathan probed. "Any friends?" He did not look at the Hatter as he spoke.

"I've never had any _close_ friends," he admitted. "I'm not adept at what you might call social skills. I didn't have any _enemies_," he added quickly, "but mostly I kept to myself. I spent a lot of time reading." He sensed Jonathan was recalling his own past and he wondered whether he ought to inquire but Jonathan interrupted.

"Vainly had I sought to borrow, from my books surcease of sorrow?" Hatter shrugged.

"Not really from _sorrow_. Just boredom."

"How do you justify ending up here then, if your childhood was so 'normal'?" There was a slight tone of… was it jealousy? Jervis cast his eyes around nervously, unsure how to reply, when suddenly he saw a familiar face.

"Harley!" Jonathan looked away from him. Harley Quinn had just been escorted into the room and she looked… deflated. Jervis stood for her as she came over.

"Hiya, Mr Tetch, Professor Crane." She said dispiritedly.

"Please, call me Jervis, my dear." He gestured for her to sit down with them. Jonathan frowned but didn't object. He could remember Harley as a psychiatrist but as the Joker's girl… he wasn't sure what to make of her.

"How are you my dear?" Jervis cooed. She burst into tears. Jonathan glanced round nervously but typically the guards ignored her outburst. Shouting or raving they would deal with, tears they would not. Jervis soothed her though.

"There, there my dear. I know it must be hard for you to bear but Joker wouldn't want to hear you'd been letting the side down, hhm?" She sniffed.

"You think he may be alive?"

"Undoubtedly, my dear." She wiped her eyes. "It's hard to be separated from our loved ones but we wouldn't want them to think of us suffering now would we?" She shook her head while Jonathan rolled his eyes. How Jervis could continue to think of Alice as his 'loved one'… "Joker will want to see a pretty smile on that face when he returns." Harley hesitantly smiled. "That's better, my dear."

"Thanks, Jervis." She sniffed. "So what's been happening in here?"

"Well, Jonathan has been very kindly giving me sessions." Harley raised her eyebrows at him.

"Really?" She adopted a professional tone of voice. "And what do you make of his case, Professor Crane?"

"I'd say his need for control stems from a fear of abandonment fostered by repeated absences of a parental figure." Jonathan shrugged. "We were just discussing his childhood." Harley turned to Jervis.

"Were you brought up on traditional fairy tales?" He looked confused by the question.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Typically, boy meets girl, they fall in love, some obstacle separates them, they overcome this to live happily ever after."

"Oh, yes, like Cinderella?" She nodded. "I used to love those tales. Handsome princes and beautiful princesses, overcoming wicked witches or evil spells."

"Yes," Harley said sedately. "I thought they would appeal to your methodical mind. Fairy tales where everything happens as it should." She glanced at Scarecrow. "I doubt you enjoyed them?" He scowled.

"Ridiculous nonsense." Jervis frowned but Harley smiled.

"That's because you always knew the world didn't work like that. Jervis here probably had a perfectly normal childhood, with kindly parents and everything as it should be."

"You're suggesting he _believed_ the tales?" Jonathan leant forward.

"Now wait a minute…"

"Not literally," Harley interrupted, "but his subconscious will have formed the notion that _that's_ what life _should_ be like. So clearly when he met Alice…"

"She fitted his subconscious description of a princess…"

"Particularly as his favourite book was…"

"Alice in Wonderland." Jonathan finished. Jervis looked between them both.

"Are you saying I'm living in a 'fantasy' world because Dr Bartholomew's already **told** me that…" he began angrily. Harley laughed, suddenly a harlequin again.

"I'm just saying you should _relax_ Jervis. Real life doesn't work like a book, not even a book as nonsensical as Alice! And love **never** does. It's all chaos, you just gotta go with the flow." She turned to Jonathan. "What about you Professor Crane? What was your childhood like?" He frowned.

"I didn't have a childhood." Harley was stumped for anything to say. She glanced back at Jervis but he was still disgruntled. She decided to retreat.

"Well, thanks Jervis. Professor Crane." She headed away. Jonathan scowled at Jervis.

"Why did you have to invite her over?"

"One should always rescue a damsel in distress." Jonathan rolled his eyes.

________________________________________________________________

I make no pretence of being a qualified psychiatrist. I view Jervis not as insane, but just really disconnected from reality. Jonathan however has been subjected to an overdose of reality. Somehow they've reached the same place, just from different directions.

Harley's just returned after the 'Laughing Fish' episode.


	6. Black as a TarBarrel

"Are we discussing Alice today?" Jonathan looked up with a frown.

"No." Jervis' face fell and he slumped into the seat.

"We will talk about her soon though?"

"Yes," Jonathan waved a hand dismissively. "First I need to understand _you_ better, before I can begin to understand your…" he searched for the right word, "relationship." Jervis sighed but didn't object. "Now, no man is an island, complete unto himself. We are naturally influenced by other people's ideas and expectations." Jervis nodded. Jonathan steepled his hands and stared at him. "However this means we often lose sight of our _own_ hopes or dreams and simply do what is expected of us. It could be argued that simply by confining us in here and terming us mad, the doctors themselves dictate we _should be_ mad. But I am curious, what ambitions have shaped your life? As a child, what did you think to become? Before the judgement of your peers wore away your hope."

"I had many ambitions," he shrugged. "I wanted to be a doctor, a vet, a writer, a scientist… how is any of that relevant now?" Jonathan scowled. He sensed Jervis was deliberately being difficult.

"Experience has shown, and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast, perhaps the larger portion of the truth arises from the seemingly irrelevant."

"Poe again?" Jervis leant back as Jonathan frowned.

"I meant, what ambitions have guided your choices? Presumably you built on your childhood wish to be a scientist. That's why you went to work for Wayne Industries. But what ambition has led you from there?"

"First meeting Alice." Jonathan sighed in resignation.

"All right. Tell me about Alice." He leant back with folded arms, mentally giving up on this session. He'd let Jervis get whatever he wanted to say off his chest then start again next time.

"Oh, how could I possibly describe her to you?"

"Well if you can't…" Jonathan began but Jervis was no longer listening.

"She has the most beautiful blue eyes, like tropical water. And her hair! You'd swear it was strands of pure gold." He gazed dreamily at nothing. "But it was her smile that caught me. So open and friendly. She had such a kind spirit. It's the only reason she **ever** went back to _him_…" Jonathan gave a humourless laugh.

"Of course.

"You weren't there! You don't know!" Jervis objected. "We were going to be happy together! She made everything bright!"

"Do you want to know what I know?" Jonathan leaned forward, suddenly angry. "People are no good. People can **never** help you. You think Alice would make your life better? She wouldn't. She could never be everything you want her to be. Ultimately we're on our own. We all have to face the world alone. There are only things and places. Terrifying and safe." He breathed heavily. Jervis watched him nervously.

"Terrifying?" He queried. Jonathan slunk back into his chair and Jervis thought he was ignoring him until he quietly spoke.

"Where I grew up, it was farmland, but there was this little area of trees. Every day as I walked home from school across those fields I passed that wood. And everyday _they_ waited for me." His face twisted but he carried on. "And they called me names, and they threw things at me, and they chased me," it seemed now he'd started he couldn't stop. "But I was fast and I knew of a place hidden amongst the trees. The other kids didn't dare go there." He looked away into his past. "Huh, like something from one of your 'fairy tales'. A dilapidated cottage, overgrown with decades of neglect. Everyone said it was haunted. They said an old witch lived there. They said the spirits of the forest trapped anyone who ventured inside. No-one would go in. Except _me_. I was terrified… but I was safe." Jervis opened his mouth to say something but couldn't think of anything _to_ say.

"Then one day, when I'd hidden in there, I heard a noise. It was a sort of scratching, sort of rustling. It was real dark in there though. The windows were all grimy and overgrown…" he stopped. Jervis realised he was holding his breath, waiting for Jonathan to continue. "And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain,  
thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;" he took a deep breath. "I went towards a window, thinking maybe to clear it, get some more light… then it flew at me."

"What?" Jervis whispered. Jonathan turned to stare at him.

"Just then flew down a monstrous crow, as black as a tar-barrel." He shook his head.

"What did you do?"

"I screamed," Jonathan replied matter of factly. "And I ran. Ran all the way home."

"Did you tell your mother?" Jervis had completely forgotten Jonathan's previous reaction. But Jonathan just shook his head.

"I'd learned early on my mother couldn't help me. I dug my nails into my palms until I was wholly focussed on the pain. Then I just swallowed my fear. Locked it away."

"But what happened when you saw the bullies again?" Jonathan looked at Jervis like he was stupid.

"I hid in the cottage."

"But…after the crow…" Jonathan cocked his head to one side.

"You must always face your fears Jervis." Jervis couldn't think of anything to say. Jonathan sat upright again. "Now, let's focus on how you deal with your need for control." Jervis stared at him. There wasn't a flicker of emotion on his face.

"How I…" he said weakly.

"When you encounter a situation beyond your control, how do you react?"

"I suppose I try to find a way to control it. Jonathan…"

"Inventing mind control devices for example?"

"Jonathan! You can't just tell me all that and then continue like nothing happened." Jonathan blinked.

"All what?"

"About the crow! And the wood, and the bullies…" Jonathan looked at him curiously.

"Jervis, we're discussing _your_ problems. Try not to evade the issue."

"But I…" he looked at Jonathan's blank face and gave up. "I'm rather tired today. Perhaps we could just play a game?" Jonathan shrugged.

"As you like."

___________________________________________________________________

All details of Jervis' and Jonathan's past are my own impression. Very little is explained in the animated series so I have drawn my ideas from other sources. It made sense to me that Jervis would have had, if anything, a somewhat privileged lifestyle so he was unprepared for the 'real' world whereas Jonathan obviously had a tortured childhood (I think the above example barely scratches the surface with him).


	7. A Grin Without a Cat

"I believe we touched upon your childhood dreams last time?" Jonathan looked unsure, as though he couldn't quite remember. Jervis recalled their last discussion vividly.

"Yes, you mentioned… following people's expectations and… something about ambitions. I was tired, we stopped early."

"Ah, yes. I recall." Jervis watched Jonathan carefully but he showed no sign of remembering. "You can tell very little about a person from their present. Presently, you are sat in Arkham. Does that tell me anything reliable about you? No. It is from your history and where you see your future I can decipher who you are." He frowned. "I seem to recall you bringing up Alice last time?" Jervis nodded hesitantly. He didn't want to upset Jonathan again today but he was concerned it was all too easy to do so unknowingly. "Why don't we discuss Lewis Carroll? It's clear you've been greatly influenced by him." Jervis nodded eagerly.

"I've always admired his work. The skilful way he depicted people."

"He said he cast himself as the dodo didn't he?"

"Yes. There's actually reason to suppose many of his characters were based on real people."

"Just as you yourself cast real people as characters." Jonathan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You are aware of course that people can be defined by their choices and this defines how they interact with the world around them?" Jervis looked confused. "To most people Arkham would be described as an asylum for the criminally insane," he couldn't help sneering slightly as he spoke. "To us, it's home. In some cases the only one we've ever known." For a moment he looked away. Then he continued. "This is because for most people, their life choices are mundane and _safe_. They do not seek to broaden our scientific knowledge, or to show the world how stupid they really are."

"And I do?"

"That's not the issue here. The point is, the importance of _perception_. To most people the Joker is a lunatic. To Harley he's the best thing since sliced bread."

"Talking about me behind my back?" The Joker sauntered over with a grin.

"We were discussing Lewis Carroll." Jonathan said with a sigh. Joker continued to smile but his face was otherwise a blank.

"Hhmm." Jervis agreed. "We were contemplating the nature of reality." Joker stared at him until he shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you want to know something truly terrifying?" He suddenly announced. "This world? It's just a great big illusion. Nothing's real! It's all in your head." He tapped Jervis' head and grinned. "Everything's chaos! So why worry about it?" He laughed as he wandered away. Jervis continued to look nervous.

"Quite the hedonist isn't he," he murmured.

"He's right though, in a way. 'All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream'. We all hold a view of the world that we consider to be 'true'. Other people challenge that. In some cases outright deride it, mostly through sheer ignorance," he sneered. "That's one reason I prefer working alone." Jervis considered this.

"Surely not everyone challenges our word view? Some consolidate it. That's what friends are." Jonathan glanced across at him.

"I suppose." Jervis hesitated. He clearly remembered their last conversation touching upon Jonathan's past and knew he had to tread carefully. He was simultaneously impressed and dismayed by Jonathan's ability to blank out sections of his past. He was deeply saddened by his need to.

"Alice understood me …" he began.

"Alice didn't understand you, Jervis," Jonathan said irritably. "She _left_ you."

"What's this then?" Without them noticing a guard had come over. "A lovers' spat?" Jonathan scowled at the guard.

"It was a private conversation." Jervis said mildly.

"You don't have the right to privacy in here, Hatter. I won't stand by while you plot another escape."

"If you're so concerned about escapes," Jonathan intervened, "perhaps you should watch the Joker more carefully?"

"Don't try and tell me my job, Crow."

"It's Jonathan." Jervis stated. The guard glared at him.

"I'll call you freaks whatever I please."

"To vilify a great man is the readiest way in which a little man can himself attain greatness."

"You watch it, Ichabod." The guard sneered. Jonathan looked murderous.

"Now that doesn't sound very friendly." The Joker had joined in the discussion. "I know something that will put a smile on your face!" He raised a hand to his mouth and gave a theatrical cough. Moments later he blew a cloud of gas directly into the guard's face. Joker grinned as the guard began to snigger.

"Told you it'd cheer you up!" The other guards rushed over and wrestled him to the floor, though in fact Joker didn't resist. He kept his eyes fixed on the guard who was now in hysterics. Jonathan and Jervis watched placidly while a doctor rushed in with a syringe and quickly administered it to the almost uncontrollable guard. Joker frowned.

"Hey! I was just trying to cheer him up!" He yelled as he was dragged out. The doctor shook her head as she led another couple of guards out with the quivering heap who'd previously been 'in control'.

Jonathan turned back to Jervis as though nothing had happened.

"That is a very good demonstration of another point. How do we prove that images inside our heads correspond to objects outside ourselves?" Jervis looked puzzled. "What makes the world 'real'? If we live only in our minds then what's to say the hallucinations people suffer from such toxins as my own are not as real as what the doctors please to term reality?"

"But we do _not_ live in our heads. Otherwise how, as you said before, could we be influenced by other people and events?" Jonathan smiled.

"Exactly. They affect us and _we _affect _them_. You choose to cast yourself as the Mad Hatter. Thus you are now the Mad Hatter. How you choose to view your environment affects that very environment. You viewed Alice as _the_ Alice and to you she is." Jervis looked doubtful.

"Are you saying everything's in my head?"

"I'm saying that one man's pleasure is another man's pain. _Everyone_ views the world differently. How could they not? _I_ chose to make myself Master of Fear, so naturally I am always concerned with people's phobias. Do you think Pamela notices that? We could watch the same program and _she_ would no doubt be able to tell you each and every plant that appeared. I wouldn't notice at all."

"And the same is true of the world at large?"

"Exactly! The doctors only see what they want to see. That's why they could never come as close to understanding you as I do." Jervis smiled and opened his mouth to reply when a guard hauled him to his feet.

"Time to go back to your cell, Hatter."


	8. Off With Her Head

"I have been considering your case," Jonathan began as he sat down.

"Oh?" Jervis looked at him in curiosity. He was beginning to enjoy their sessions immensely.

"I have been considering the notion of free will and in particular the responsibility it entails. I said before people often follow the expectations of others. The reason they do this is of course down to fear." Jervis nodded. "It is safer to do what you're told or what is expected than to stake your own course and risk failure and disapproval."

"You did not do as expected." Jervis commented mildly. Jonathan looked smug.

"No. I learnt from years of playing my role that I not only did not enjoy it, but also that I did not _have_ to **be **that person. I decided to make myself master rather than subject. And it is possible." He leant forward. "You have also started to break away from the expectations of your peers. However there are some residual barriers."

"I'm not sure that I understand you, my dear." Jervis queried hesitantly.

"I said before our choices affect how we view our external world. You chose to become the Mad Hatter. And you begin to see the world differently to how you did. I might even say you see it through a looking glass." He actually smiled briefly. "To you the Bat is a Jabberwocky, perhaps the Joker is the Knave of Hearts. But clearly to you, Alice is _the_ Alice." Jervis nodded. Jonathan shook his head.

"But don't you see? You're still conforming to the ideas instilled into you from birth. If you wish to be free to make your own choices and take control of your own life, you must let go of these hindrances."

"What do you mean?"

"Part of you still believes in fairy-tale endings. You are still looking for a 'princess'. The world doesn't work that way, however you look at it."

"But Alice…" Jonathan quickly interrupted.

"Did it never occur to you that in Wonderland, Alice never even got on with the Mad Hatter? If I recall, she thinks him rude and calls it the stupidest tea party ever. And he tells her her hair wants cutting."

"_My_ Alice is perfect." Jervis whispered. Jonathan continued undeterred.

"You have an idea of what _should_ be. Learnt from everyone who's ever had an influence upon you. Your mother, your books, your friends, the media… everyone and everything. But it doesn't fit with your choice to be the Mad Hatter. It's an anomaly from your days of servitude."

"Now Jonathan," Jervis tried to sound calm. "It's hardly wrong to love someone."

"Do you though?" Jonathan looked at Jervis intently.

"Of… of course I do."

"I think, you love the _idea_ of Alice."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"In your mind, she's the perfect girl, straight out of a story book. You never consider she's as human as the rest of us. You imagine a _happily ever after_," he sneered now, "without the details. I think," he leant forward, "there's the Alice you knew… and the Alice you tell me about… who doesn't exist."

"She _does_ exist."

"Did it ever occur to you that perhaps subconsciously you were idolising her for a reason? Knowing she'd never live up to your expectation so it wouldn't be your fault things didn't work out? Targeting an unobtainable girl…" Jervis stood up abruptly.

"I'd like to go back to my room now." Jonathan stared at him.

"You think your book has hidden meanings? _Everyone_ has hidden meanings. There's what we consciously think and what we subconsciously think. I don't think you have a clue what you're _really_ thinking."

"I **love **Alice."

"You _think_ you love Alice because you want to love someone. If you'd been a fan of Poe you'd have fallen in love with a Lenore or an Annabel…"

"Alice was perfect!"

"The only thing _wrong_ with you is your obsession with Alice!"

Jervis snapped and leapt at Jonathan, intent on either hitting or throttling him, or both. Jonathan easily evaded his grasp and the guards didn't let him have a second chance.

"What's gotten into him? Crane! This must be your doing."

"Of course," Jonathan sneered. "I **wanted** the Mad Hatter to try and kill me."

The guards pulled him away and Jonathan watched in annoyance. In one sense Tetch was a highly intelligent individual, capable of holding an interesting conversion with him. In another sense he was a complete idiot. If only he wasn't fixated on that girl! Jonathan didn't mind an obsessive interest in Lewis Carroll. As an avid reader himself he could hardly complain at that. But he drew the line at his worship of this Alice girl. She'd rejected him, it was as simple as that. Either the Hatter realised she probably hadn't been worth his time or, Jonathan thought, he'd have nothing more to do with him.


	9. Two Days Wrong

It was Jervis' first time in the hole. With no-one to talk to he huddled up into himself and recited rhymes just to hear a voice.

"'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
And the mome raths outgrabe."

Why was Jonathan so mean? Trying to undo everything he believed in, everything that gave him hope in this dismal place? Jervis was like a bird cooped up here. He needed to fly if not in reality then in his dreams. That tove had made him miserable, reminding him how far from his previous life he was.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!  
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!  
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun  
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

Of course it wasn't Jonathan's fault he was _in_ here. No it was the Batman who had driven him to use his mind control on Alice. It was _his _fault Jervis was locked away here. And hadn't Alice encouraged him? She'd been perfect that evening… until her bandersnatch of a boyfriend had turned up! Jervis should have killed him when he had the chance.

"He took his vorpal sword in hand:  
Long time the manxome foe he sought—  
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,  
And stood awhile in thought."

He'd had him at his mercy in his Wonderland. He'd even come close to finishing the Bat there. And he'd been besotted with his Alice. He'd wanted to share the evening with her! But she'd been no more than a doll then. A caricature. Why hadn't he finished Billy then? Because he wanted Alice to be happy? Because he didn't really want to hurt anyone?

"And as in uffish thought he stood,  
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,  
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,  
And burbled as it came!"

Whatever his intentions had been, they'd been interrupted by the Bat. The Jabberwock had sided with the Bandersnatch to rescue the Jubjub bird. He'd taken everything from Jervis and locked him away here to rot. Or maybe not everything. He'd been changed by the whole experience. As Jonathan had said, he'd chosen to become the Mad Hatter.

"One, two! One, two! and through and through  
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!  
He left it dead, and with its head  
He went galumphing back."

He hadn't killed the Bat… or won Alice… but he had found something he'd been looking for all his life – acceptance. He'd found where he belonged. He was 'one of them'. And he knew now who he was. He'd gotten control of his life back. The old Jervis Tetch was no more. He was a new man in more ways than one.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?  
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!  
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"  
He chortled in his joy."

Maybe Jonathan hadn't been so far off. Jervis had been looking for someone his whole life. He'd thought it was Alice, the vision from his beloved book. Maybe all he'd needed was to find himself. To realise _he_ had control over his own life. Not his parents, not his peers, not the Bat, and not Alice.

"'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;  
All mimsy were the borogoves,  
And the mome raths outgrabe."

Every individual has to define their own existence. Everyone chooses how to live their own life. The world was indeed like a wonderland. And for the Mad Hatter, life was a tea-party. He did not _need_ Alice. Especially not if he had the March Hare.

"I told you butter wouldn't suit the works!" Jervis yawned to himself. "It was the _best_ butter," he continued. He lay down and closed his eyes wearily. He'd have to apologise to Jonathan… when he got out.


	10. It Began With BlottingPaper

Not for the first time, Crane cursed the Joker. He had no subtlety. But then again, he thought, perhaps it was Harley this time. She had been hinting at some plan Joker was _graciously_ letting her help with.

A few minutes ago, the building had been violently shaken by an explosion. The guard's radios had announced the wall to the Joker's cell had been blown off. Jonathan had been in the common room and still the force had knocked him to the ground. Emergency procedures had been activated. The guards had run to the source of the trouble, where no doubt countless criminals would be trying to run, and everywhere else had been sealed. Moments later the power had been cut.

_Brilliant! _He was stuck in a secure room with madmen for who knew how long_._ He pulled himself up and grimaced as a pain shot through his ankle. _Perfect._ He leant against the chair he'd been sat on. Perhaps he could still make use of this disturbance. He couldn't run of course, not with an injured ankle, but perhaps he could find some way to unlock a window or door, and secretly slip out unnoticed. He could be safely hidden before they even realised he'd gone. Surely they had their hands full with Joker.

He waited 'til his eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness and scanned round for some kind of tool. He hobbled forward a few paces. Everything was soft wood or cardboard. A few of the forgotten scrabbled about the room. They were no use. They were barely human and weren't even capable of following simple instructions. His eye fell on Jervis sat by the sealed door. A guard had just been escorting him in when everything went chaotic.

_Huh! _Last time he'd seen Jervis the man had tried to throttle him. He wasn't about to help the ingrate continued to study the room, limping round carefully. Perhaps he could extract a spring from the sofa? As he hobbled back he noticed Jervis again. He hadn't moved. With a frown Jonathan hopped closer. No reaction. As he drew nearer he could see a mark running down the Hatter's cheek.

_Damnit!_ Jervis was bleeding! Jonathan limped the rest of the way over, hissing at another inmate who drew too near. The damn guard had let Jervis fall in the explosion and then run off without a backward glance. Jonathan had invested too much time in Jervis to let the man just bleed to death.

"Jervis?" There wasn't any reaction. "Jervis." Gingerly he crouched down to look closer at him. He couldn't even see if he was breathing. "Jervis!" He reached out and shook him by the shoulder. Jervis gave a slight moan. At least he was alive.

"Jonathan?" He murmured.

"Yes." Jonathan twisted himself so he could sit with his ankle straight.

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" Jervis mumbled, his eyes shutting.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Jonathan snapped.

"Because Poe wrote on both." Jervis smiled at him. Jonathan sensed this was meant as some kind of apology but he was distracted as he saw Jervis' eyes shutting again.

"You have to stay awake Jervis." Jonathan shifted closer to examine the cut. "You may have a concussion."

"If you say so March Hare." Jervis said dreamily. Jonathan ignored him and glanced round for a cloth. Of course there was nothing lying about. Gritting his teeth he ripped a strip from his own shirt and pressed it to Jervis' head. He gave another moan. Jonathan tried to think of something to say to keep him awake.

"I'm sorry about the other day Jervis. I shouldn't have said that about Alice."

"Hmm? Oh well, off with her head," he muttered. Jonathan frowned. This wasn't working.

"I know Jervis. Let's play a game." He tore another strip to tie his improvised bandage in place.

"Not chess, dear. I'm very tired."

"No, not chess. I'll begin a rhyme and you finish it. OK?"

"Alright." Jonathan shifted round to lean against the wall. He positioned himself so if Jervis began to slip he'd fall on him before hitting the floor.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little bat," he began. Jervis smiled.

"How I wonder what you're at."

"Good. Hey diddle diddle,"

"The cat and the fiddle."

They continued in this way for what could have been hours or minutes. Jonathan was getting tired and it seemed to him Jervis was now holding him up as much as he was holding Jervis up. He was having trouble thinking of rhymes. Jervis interrupted.

"It was the best butter, you know." Jonathan glanced down at him.

"Thank you," was all he could think of to say but Jervis smiled happily.

Just then the lights came back on and the doors were thrown open. A team of guards rushed in with weapons ready. They seemed surprised to find the two criminal masterminds sat calmly against the wall.

"At last!" Jonathan muttered. One of the doctors pushed his way forward and checked Jervis over.

"Looks like a concussion."

"You think?" Jonathan sarcastically commented.

"Watch it Crane." A guard pulled him up roughly and he cried out as his ankle twisted again.

"Jonathan?" Jervis' eyes opened as he heard the cry.

"Don't worry Jervis. Our captors have come to rescue you."

"Rescue me?"

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!" Jonathan called as he was pulled away. "The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!" He heard Jervis faintly reply.

"Beware the Jubjub bird," before he was out of earshot.


	11. Say What You Mean

Jervis had awoken in the infirmary. He felt somewhat sleepy but otherwise in no pain. He tried to piece together what had happened yesterday. Or was it longer ago now? He remembered the guard, escorting him to the common room. Then there'd been that explosion and he'd felt a sharp blow to his head. He frowned as he tried to remember exactly what had happened but his thoughts were more skittish than usual. He lay back and went with the flow of his thoughts, hoping they'd lead where he wanted to go eventually.

He remembered Jonathan's voice. He'd kept him awake. Why?

"_You have to stay awake. You may have a concussion."_ Ah, yes. They'd played a game. Chess? No. Oh, yes! Rhymes!

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary," But hadn't he wanted to say something to Jonathan? Something he'd thought about in solitary? What was it?

"_Why is a raven like a writing desk?"_ That's what he'd said. Jervis realised now it might not have accurately conveyed what he'd meant. Had he given an answer? Did Jonathan understand he was sorry?

He'd forgiven Jonathan for so blatantly calling him a fool because he'd realised a) he meant it for the best and b) it was true. Alice had turned on _him_ when he'd only wanted the best for _her_. Now he was the Mad Hatter, the whole of Gotham was open to him.

But had Jonathan forgiven him for his outburst? He frowned. Something was still niggling at the back of his mind. Some piece of the puzzle he'd overlooked.

"Do you mean that you think you can find out the answer to it?" He muttered in iritaion.

"Then you should say what you mean," a familiar voice muttered. Jervis propped himself up and looked across at Jonathan in the bed opposite.

"Jonathan!"

"Finally awake are you?" Jonathan looked decidedly cross and Jervis wasn't immediately sure if he was still angry at him.

"Jonathan, I'm sorry about…" He was waved into silence.

"Forget about it." Jonathan continued to scowl. Jervis hesitated, not sure whether he was forgiven or not. He noticed Jonathan's foot was bound up.

"Whatever happened to your leg?"

"I broke it in that explosion… not that those guards cared," he muttered darkly. "Do you _remember_ what happened to you?"

"I got a concussion. You kept me awake," he suddenly remembered. "And put a bandage on…" Again Jonathan waved this aside.

"If you'd bled to death in there the guards would only have blamed _me_."

"Then we're still friends? The Mad Hatter and the March Hare?" Jonathan gave him a thunderous look.

"**Never** call me _that _again." Jervis shrugged. Jonathan continued to scowl at him but there was nothing he could do from across the room. Jonathan decided to change the subject.

"Have you noticed that new guard?" He asked in a hushed voice. Jervis glanced to the door.

"The one who calls us all freaks and threatens us with beatings?"

"That's the one. Thinks he can stop the break-outs," Jonathan sneered. "He's the one who left _you_ to bleed to death and made _me_ walk on my broken ankle. How would you like to play a little game with him?" Jervis clapped.

"What sort of game?" Jonathan was about to reply but Jervis' clapping had drawn the guard's attention.

"Alright Crane. What are you plotting now?" Jonathan's expression switched from placid to furious within an instant.

"What? I'm not allowed to talk to my friend now?" He sneered. The guard puffed his chest out.

"You're allowed to do what I say you're allowed to do."

"Really?" Jonathan's voice went deadly quiet. "So you're in charge huh?"

"Damn straight."

"You think you're in _control?_"

"I **am** in control." Jonathan carefully steepled his hands.

"Why the need to declare it I wonder?" Jonathan peered at the guard like a doctor considering a patient. "Perhaps a fear of **not** being in control?"

"None of that Scarecrow." The guard held his nightstick threateningly at him. Jervis half-worried Jonathan would press further, but he held his hands up in mock surrender. The guard moved off, strutting in triumph.

"The pompous fool," Jervis muttered.

"This game is far from over." Jonathan muttered with a dangerous look. Jervis smiled wickedly.


	12. Tone of the Shark

Jervis was released from the infirmary later that day and Scarecrow was escorted back to his cell once they'd put his foot in a proper cast. Jervis had been angered when Jonathan told him that the guard had actually only taken him back to his cell after the break out yesterday. It wasn't until he'd been escorted to meet his doctor the next morning they finally realised he'd _really_ injured himself. Really it was no wonder Jonathan lashed out the way he did when he was so often the victim of such treatment.

As he hobbled clumsily into the common room later, a few of the inmates averted their eyes in case he turned on them. He certainly looked in a fine temper.

"Is that the genius of famine descended upon the earth? Or Scarecrow eloped from a cornfield?" The guard chuckled at his own wit. Jonathan's face was a mixture of fury and helpless humiliation. The other guard interrupted.

"Don't let the docs hear you talk like that, Palmer."

"Oh don't get me wrong, he's a worthy wight." Jervis balled his fists in anger. This was such a deliberate insult… he had no doubt the guard had only read 'Legend of Sleepy Hollow' so he could insult Jonathan. As Jonathan finally reached his chair, Jervis stood up.

Carefully watching the guard, Palmer, he wandered across the room. There he leant against the wall, keeping his eyes on the guard. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jonathan watching him in curiosity. After a few minutes he moved to sit on the end of the sofa but he continued to watch Palmer. Finally the guard noticed his continuous scrutiny.

"What do you think you're looking at?"

"I was wondering who she was?" Jervis replied calmly.

"Who who was?"

"The girl who rejected you." The guard stared at him. "I can see it as clear as I do through the looking glass."

"There was no girl." Palmer huffed.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," Jervis apologised profusely. "How foolish of me, of course, please don't think…" The guard nodded in magnanimous acceptance. He was about to turn away when Jervis continued. "Who was the boy?"

The guard froze momentarily before raising his nightstick to strike him. Jonathan wondered later whether Jervis had planned for this or whether it was luck that the duty doctor walked in.

"Palmer! What are you doing?" Jervis quickly slipped away while the guard explained himself to the doctor. Jonathan watched as the doctor shook his head.

"This is an asylum for the insane. You're going to have to get used to these sorts of provocations. These people often don't have any idea what they're saying." Palmer fumed as the doctor waked away and he shot the Mad Hatter a venomous glance. Jervis smiled innocently.

"Not bad," Jonathan commented. Then he smiled. "But I have another idea."

He glanced round at the inmates in the room. There were two distinct sets of prisoners in Arkham. The rogue's gallery types, brilliant criminals locked away for being ahead of their time, and the 'lost souls', mindless crooks who couldn't tell reality from fantasy. Jonathan had taken the time to get to know _all_ of them, particularly their fears.

Carefully he got up and wandered over to one of the lost souls. Jervis watched with interest as his companion took his turn in the game. He stopped by one individual who was patiently trying to clear the floor of dirt. An easy phobia to manipulate. Mysophobia.

"It's disgusting," he whispered. "He **never **washes his hands." The inmate looked up and followed Jonathan's gaze. His eye twitched as instinct fought with treatment.

"Just think… all those minute bacteria spreading from his hands to door handles, from door handles to other hands, from hands to chairs… pretty soon they're _everywhere_."

The man stood up. Jonathan hobbled back over to Jervis with a smug smile. The inmate had headed straight over to Palmer.

"What do you want?" The madman tried to grab his hand. "Hey, stop that!" Palmer tried to shove him away. This only made the inmate redouble his efforts to seize him. "Pete! Get this madman away from me!" The other guard came over and gently pulled the inmate away. But he screamed as though hurt.

"What's wrong with him," Jervis asked Jonathan.

"He has an acute fear of dirt and in particular contamination. Physical touch is quite repulsive to him."

"Then why ever was he grabbing the guard's hands?" Jonathan smiled.

"He was going to remove what he viewed as a source of uncleanliness." Jervis stared as comprehension dawned.

"Oh." The inmate was still struggling against his captor and the doctor had arrived with a sedative. Jervis glanced at the man, clearly terrified by the very touch of the doctor and guard. Then he looked back at Jonathan. His face was a mixture of emotions, fascination being prominent. He clearly enjoyed upsetting Palmer, but he also relished the inmate's terror. However another emotion was present, though only in odd glimpses when the man gave a particularly loud screech. As the sedative took effect and the man was taken away, Jervis suddenly recognised it. It was the face of a man recollecting a nightmare. A fleeting look of horror and dread. In seeing the other man's fears, Jonathan was remembering his own.

Jonathan had now settled back with a superior air. Jervis continued to think. His own experience of fear had always been fleeting. When in a situation utterly beyond his control he was capable of absolute terror, but it always passed. It did not haunt him the way Jonathan's fears apparently haunted him. He remembered Jonathan saying to him 'You must always face your fears, Jervis'. At the time he'd taken it as good advice for a frightening situation. Now he realised Jonathan took it literally. He was _always_ facing his fears. They were in a sense the only companion he'd ever had.

"What's that face for?" Jervis started and said the first thing that came into his head.

"'Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare

"You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair."

As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose

Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.

When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,

And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark;

But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,

His voice has a timid and tremulous sound."

Jonathan sighed.


	13. The Question Is

A lot of rumours had spread about the new fish… foremost was that he was mentally retarded. Jervis realised now how lucky he was to have caught the attention of the Scarecrow. New fish were routinely abused as a way of testing. Previously he might have thought this was unfair but now he recognised it as a tradition to sort the strong from the weak. The Rogues from the lost.

Edward Nygma was not so philosophical. After recovering from some kind of virtual reality coma, he was appalled to discover he now had a reputation as an imbecile. Jervis might have sympathised more if Edward hadn't come across as so damned arrogant.

Jervis was idly waiting for Jonathan when the Riddler wandered over. The man sat himself down without so much as a by-your-leave.

"No room! No room!" Jervis declared. Nygma only raised an eyebrow.

"You're the Mad Hatter aren't you?" He leant back casually. "I gather the Batman caught you again last month." Jervis gave him a blank look.

"One can't believe impossible things." Riddler clearly didn't understand this and chose to ignore the remark.

"So… why _is_ a raven like a writing desk?" Jervis frowned.

"Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie." A quiet laugh behind Edward made him turn round angrily. He came face to face with Scarecrow who leant onto the back of Nygma's chair.

"Ask me a riddle and I reply," he whispered. Jervis sang the next line louder than before.

"Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie." Edward opened his mouth to retort but Jervis' singing had caught the attention of the Joker.

"Ha Ha Ha HA HA! Oh that's priceless! Say something else question man." Riddler crossed his arms angrily.

"All you'll get from me is what's broken when named."

"Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie!" Joker sang. "Why does the Batman? I don't know why!"

"Oh shut up!" Edward snapped. Jonathan whispered to him again.

"Fascinating… catagelophobia." He explained across his head to Jervis. "The Riddler has a fear of ridicule."

"Ridicule Riddler, ridiculous!" Joker burst out into hysterical laughter. The guards hurried over to take him away. He was still giggling as they pulled the strait jacket on him and he was singing again as they led him out.

"Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie. A fly can't bat, but a bat can fly!" Riddler scowled at Jonathan and Jervis as he removed himself to the opposite side of the room. Jonathan resumed his chair.

"You're late," Jervis commented mildly. Jonathan frowned.

"I can't walk that fast with this leg." His expression took on an almost excited look. "But I had a splendid idea while listening to my doctor prattle on."

"Yes?"

"One that combines fear and control," he leant forward conspiratorially. "Tell me, how long can your mind control devices work?" Jervis shrugged.

"I've never really been able to test it. Someone always interferes."

"Theoretically then."

"Indefinitely."

"Excellent! And does the puppet know it's a puppet?"

"Oh yes. Once the device is removed they remember everything which indicates…" Jonathan waved a hand impatiently.

"Yes, yes. My plan is for you to sneak one on Palmer. Not to have him do anything particular, just so he knows he's being _controlled_."

"Maybe occasionally push him to do something?"

"Yes," Jonathan grinned. "Nothing to get us found out. No escapes or other extravagances…"

"You could hardly run with a broken leg."

"Foot," he corrected quickly before continuing. "Just to realise his fear of losing control."

"I'll have to make a device…"

"They want me to go back to the infirmary at some point so they can check my progress. Tell me what you'll need and I'll find a way to hide it in my cast." A loud slap drew their attention. Riddler was rubbing a reddening cheek while Ivy stormed across the room muttering. Jonathan and Jervis grinned.

_____________________________________________________________________

This is set after 'What is Reality?' when Riddler is first caught. His reference to Jervis' capture recently by the Bat is from 'Almost Got Im' when Penguin mentions it. I've taken the view that Batman probably encourages such rumours to help frighten the criminals, hence Jervis' confusion.


	14. Further Off From England

When Jonathan hobbled into the common room he was surprised and somewhat annoyed to see Jervis talking to Nygma. He did not make friends easily and wasn't prepared to be usurped. With a scowl he hopped over. Riddler caught his look and made a tactical retreat, smirking slightly as he ambled away before Jonathan had crossed half the room.

"What did he want?"

"Hhm? Oh, we were just talking." Jervis seemed somewhat distracted.

"What's up with you? What was he saying?" Jonathan sat heavily into a chair. Jervis shrugged.

"I'm just feeling a little home sick."

"Home sick." Jonathan repeated blankly.

"Yes, homesick." Jervis reiterated. "You know? Home? England?"

"Oh." Jonathan was momentarily surprised. Of course he _knew_ that Jervis was British, but he never really thought of him as foreign. "I suppose you must miss it," he muttered. Jervis gave a non-committal shrug.

"Not so much most of the time. But sometimes…" he trailed off.

"Why particularly today?" Jervis looked almost embarrassed.

"I got a letter. From my parents."

"Your parents?" They had discussed Jervis' parents before but somehow Jonathan assumed they were dead. Jervis nodded.

"Apparently Mr Wayne wrote to them when I… um… left his employ."

"And they've only written back now?"

"They live in England," Jervis pointed out. "The post can be quite slow."

"Ah. So they didn't know you were… relocated?" Jervis shook his head and said miserably.

"The last time I spoke to them I told them how well I was doing in my job and how I now had a wonderful girlfriend." He gave a bitter laugh.

"And now he's told them you're…" Jonathan hesitated.

"It was a very nice letter…"

"But now they're ashamed and angry? _How could you Jervis_, that type of thing?"

"No. No, actually. They're very sympathetic. Actually they blame themselves." He held his head in his hands. Jonathan searched for something to say.

"Surely that's better than them disowning you?" Jervis sniffed.

"I've always tried to make them proud." He looked up at Jonathan. "They were so happy when I was accepted at Oxford. Then when I got a place at Wayne Industries…" he shook his head. "Now they're so… disappointed. They worry they pushed me too hard…"

"Maybe they did." Jonathan spoke firmly. Jervis looked shocked. "Did _you_ want to go to Oxford? Did you _want_ to leave England to work at the prestigious Wane Industries? You said before they wanted you to do better than them. Perhaps they were trying to live _their_ dreams through _you_."

"He was part of my dream, of course - but then I was part of his dream too." Jervis murmured. "They only wanted the best for me…"

"Perhaps, but a waking dream of life and light, hath left me broken-hearted…" he paused. "Did they ever listen to what _you_ wanted? It seems to me that of all the Rogues in here, you're least concerned with fame and fortune."

"Well, I do miss having a comfortable income…"

"Granted you're probably least inclined to roughing it," Jonathan agreed, "but where most of us started out trying to gain our rightful recognition, you just wanted a girl's attention." Jervis blushed. "I wouldn't worry about them." Jonathan dismissed the topic.

"They're still my parents, Jonathan." Jervis spoke quietly.

"Fine," Scarecrow waved a hand irritably. "Write back. Say you know they only wanted the _best_ for you. Say how much you still _love_ them," his tone was distinctly scathing but suddenly he turned firm, "but make it clear you _don't _need their _pity._" Jonathan's eyes were defiant.

"Well… that's true."

"I've told you before Jervis," Jonathan leant back again. "There's no such thing as truth. It's all a matter of perception." Jervis nodded and for a moment they fell silent.

"You never said what Riddler was talking to you about."

"Oh! We were just discussing England. He went there after his first caper apparently. Walked in the garden of England…"

"Is that in London?" Jervis smiled.

"It's Kent. He didn't go to Oxford though. That's where Lewis Carroll spent most of his life you know." Jonathan didn't reply. Jervis tried another line of conversation.

"Did you know Carroll was a great admirer of Poe's?"

"Really?" Jonathan seemed mildly interested. Jervis nodded.

"Is it true that Poe's considered the father of detective fiction?" Jonathan visibly relaxed.

"Oh yes. Though he's mostly remembered for his gothic work… some say inspired by the early death of his young wife. She was just 24 when she died… only 13 when he married her. He was also a fan of cryptography like your Carroll." Jonathan gave a sudden laugh. "In some ways they were very alike."

"Yes," Jervis smiled. "I suppose in a lot of ways they were."

_____________________________________________________________________

I feel I should say again that all personal details for Jonathan and Jervis are my own invention. It just occurred to me that people hardly ever consider the family of the villains. I wondered what Jervis' parents might think hearing their baby boy was being treated as criminally insane. We'll get to Jonathan's parents later.


	15. If It Was So, It Might Be

The common room was in uproar. Everyone was talking at once. The Batman was dead! Suddenly a loud whistle broke through the din.

"If you guys don't pipe down it's back to your cells!" A low muttering broke out but the inmates settled back down. Jervis followed Jonathan to a far corner to talk in private. As he passed Two-face he heard him muttering.

"Good riddance… shame… should have been us… should have been us…" Jervis hurried on quickly. He could see Nygma lost in thought and Ivy looking unconcerned. He was glad to reach the secluded corner. Jonathan seemed unusually quiet though.

"What do you make of it?" Jervis whispered. For a long moment Jonathan was silent staring at a memory only he could see.

"Are you familiar with the Legend of Sleepy Hollow?" he asked suddenly. Jervis was taken aback by the abrupt question but nodded carefully. "I remember reading that book for the first time. Remember how Ichabod, initially mocked for his appearance, amazed everyone at the dance with his skill. It inspired me," he turned his gaze back onto Jervis, "inspired me to practise my own form of violent dancing. But then… then I read to the _end_. Can you imagine my anger? My namesake… scared by a _pumpkin_?" Jervis involuntarily shifted back from the Scarecrow's glare. But he knew all this already.

"What has this to do with the Batman?" Jonathan didn't appear to hear.

"I vowed I'd never be subject to fear again. Easier said than done… when the bullies are always waiting to pounce." His voice grew quieter. "It all changed when I realised I could use their jeers to turn the tables on them. I remember their screams of terror. I never forget a scream," a faint smile touched his lips. "Especially not a dying scream. Theirs were particularly sweet." Jervis' eye went wide. Jonathan had never spoken of his victims before. It sent a chill down his spine.

"How did you kill them?" Jervis whispered. Jonathan shrugged.

"With terror. Pure, unadulterated terror. They were so scared by the sight of me they drove into a tree. Ha! To fear is to value… to honour. To revile, mock or pity," he spat the words, "dishonour." Jervis wracked his brain for the source of his quotation, struggling to keep up with Jonathan's chaotic mind.

"Hobbes also said to love was to honour." Jonathan pursed his lips apparently annoyed Jervis had sourced his quote but also grudgingly acknowledging it.

"_You_ may seek power through love if you wish. _I_ will stick with fear."

"That's fine by me." Jervis tried to steer the conversation back. He had never personally killed anyone though he'd been perfectly willing to sacrifice his mind-controlled minions to stop the Bat. "Your victims… they were the people who bullied you?"

"Bullied me? Tormented me! They made my life a living hell. Then just when I thought I'd finally escaped the bullies, just when I thought I'd be free of fear, the Batman showed up!"

"The Batman frightened you?" Jervis hazarded. Jonathan clenched his fists and turned on Jervis angrily. The smaller man shrank back.

"The Batman was an overgrown bully! Always there… trying to put me down! Mocking me." Jonathan simmered as Jervis thought. Jonathan needed to conquer his fears. How could he conquer his fear of the Batman if he were dead?

"I vowed the Scarecrow would win." His voice was low and held a deadly menace. Jervis looked anxiously at him.

"Surely you _have_ won Jonathan." A pair of venomous eyes fixed on him and he flinched. "Everyone in here has seen you face down the Batman. Didn't your last encounter send him in here himself? You truly drove him mad with fear." For a long moment Jonathan continued to stare at Jervis, then he turned away.

"What do you suppose the Batman's biggest fear was?" Jervis breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'd imagine something heroic… like failing to save innocent lives."

"Yet he consistently put a mere child in danger. There's a riddle for your friend." He gestured across to Nygma.

"A child? I'm afraid I don't follow." Jonathan relaxed and leant back against the wall taking the weight off his leg.

"Batman was clearly a utilitarianist, since he used any method at his disposal to disrupt our plans…"

"My dear… a utilitarianist?" Jervis interrupted. "He'd never let a single person come to harm… not even to stop us."

"Then how do you account for his little sidekick?"

"The bird-boy? How do you mean?"

"Surely it's not ethical to put such a youngster in harm's way? However if you view it from an utilitarianism point of view…"

"But how do you explain the fact that he's saved even the Joker's life…" Jonathan shrugged.

"Cowardice. Fear of killing someone… or _letting_ them die." As Jervis considered this, Riddler wandered over.

"I have a question for you. How is it nobody in here has managed what a nobody out there has achieved?"

"Luck?" Jervis suggested.

"Fate?" Jonathan shrugged.

"Or perhaps he hasn't really killed the Bat at all." The others looked sceptical. "I wouldn't put it past the Bat to fake his own death for some ulterior purpose."

"See?" Jonathan turned triumphantly to Jervis. "Utlitarianism!" Nygma looked miffed and wandered away in a huff. Jervis smiled.

"He's not so bad really."

"Huh. He's a pompous know-it-all." Jervis hid a grin. It really was a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Jonathan glanced round to see if anyone else was close by. Everyone was still distracted by the latest news. In a low voice he whispered.

"I got the parts you'll need." Jervis kept watch nervously while Jonathan tipped his cast so the tiny pieces of circuitry fell out. Then the Mad Hatter leant against the wall as casually as he could manage and slid himself down to the ground. With as much nonchalance as possible he palmed the parts and stood himself up. Jonathan watched all this with a raised eyebrow.

"Very subtle," he commented.

"Thank you."

_____________________________________________________________________

Events here are during the episode 'The Man Who Killed The Batman'.


	16. Collar That Dormouse

"What have you two got on Palmer?" The voice that broke their concentration sounded highly irritated.

"Whatever do you mean?" Jervis queried. Riddler crossed his arms.

"I know you're behind it. Was it bribery? Blackmail? Or just a conspiracy?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Jonathan?" Jervis looked over to his companion who had a smug smile. "Jonathan, what did you have Palmer do?" Jervis now sounded slightly suspicious. Jonathan shrugged.

"I just suggested he might like a little sing song." Jervis frowned.

"Suggested?" Riddler demanded. "Since when do the guards listen to what you have to say?" Jervis quickly gestured for Nygma to sit down. He grabbed a chair and sat down without taking his eyes off Jonathan.

"I think I preferred you when you weren't so cheerful," he muttered. Jonathan continued to smile at him though Jervis suspected this was only to wind Riddler up. He leant over to Edward and whispered conspiratorially,

"We've put a mind-control unit on him." Riddler's eyes widened in slight admiration. Then his eyes narrowed and focused back on Jonathan.

"So you could have him do anything you want… escape, steal, kill… and you make him sing that damned song?" Jervis glanced between the two men.

"Song? What song?" He looked to Jonathan but he was clearly not about to answer. Riddler gritted his teeth and muttered,

"Cottleston, cottleston, cottleston pie…" Jervis grinned. Riddler turned his furious glare onto him.

"Is that really the best your mind control can do?" Jervis drew himself up.

"Certainly not! It may not be as _refined_ as I'd like but it lets us control his behaviour. Mostly he acts as normal but he's subject to _our_ commands. Subconsciously he's very much aware of this but consciously he can do nothing," he added proudly.

"So what else are you getting him doing? The can-can?" Jervis frowned at Riddler's tone.

"You shouldn't make personal remarks, it's very rude."

"Here comes a chopper to chop off your head," Jonathan commented. Riddler looked between the two and realised he was treading on dangerous ground. He thought quickly.

"Suppose we change the subject?" he hazarded. Jervis' expression cleared instantly and he sat back.

"Tell us a story," he stated. Riddler looked blank.

"I'm afraid I don't know one." Jervis grinned widely and turned to Jonathan.

"Then the Dormouse shall!" Jonathan who had been watching with interest raised a languid eyebrow.

"But I'm not the Dormouse." He gestured across to Nygma. "He is." Jervis shook his head vaguely,

"- only the March Hare said – he denies it…" Riddler quickly interrupted before Jervis remembered he was angry. Or before he could latch onto the idea of _him_ as the _Dormouse_.

"What are you having Palmer _do_ if you're not escaping?" Jervis looked up, still momentarily confused. Jonathan answered instead.

"We're pushing him beyond his comfort zones and towards realising his fears."

"His fears? And how _exactly_ do you find out what his fears _are_?" Jonathan shrugged as though this should have been obvious but elaborated anyway.

"Fear comes in many varieties. There are the natural, sensible fears which all men possess… no matter how well they may suppress them," a vague frown crossed over his face but then he continued his explanation. "For example the fear of pain and the fear of death…these are very real threats. There are also certain instinctive fears inherited from our ancestors… racial memories from when there were very real threats waiting for us in the dark. These genetic memories tell us we should fear things such as reptiles and other predators."

"You mean some kind of collective unconsciousness?" Nygma interrupted.

"Have you ever seen a mob?" Jonathan's eyes glazed slightly as he replayed a memory in his head. "There's no leader in a mob yet the crowd moves in unity, controlled by a subconscious directive. A pack instinct often guided by fear. Didn't Hobbes say, the passion to be reckoned upon is fear?" Riddler shrugged and allowed Jonathan to continue.

"Specific _phobias_ are harder to pinpoint. They may be revealed by excessive aggression or scorn… methink the lady doth protest too much… or by reflex reactions… victim to the terrors anticipated. But we can learn something from general stereotyping. A doctor may be expected to object to violence… a librarian would shy from loud noises…"

"It's not terribly fair to say all librarians are scared of loud noises," Nygma scoffed.

"There's a reason stereotypes become stereotypes," Jonathan retorted. "But it's a fair assumption that guards like to be in _control_. Just by putting the device on Palmer we've taken that away from him and that must already be having an effect."

"Why don't you just… oh I don't know, tell him the room's filling with water or something?"

"Fear is best savoured. I admit it's often necessary to take a more direct route but in here… well there's no need to rush it. It'll be so much more effective to gradually take him apart, with care and precision."

"So what _is_ your first move? Besides irritating _me_?"

"We've instructed him to wake after no more than half an hour's sleep. He may go to sleep again afterwards but he'll suffer the effects of a disturbed night. It's a most effective form of torture… though if I had the opportunity I think I'd favour a repetitive sound… such as a dripping tap. It is the beating of his hideous heart," he quoted.

Jervis suddenly shook his head.

"Why with an M?" Edward and Jonathan glanced at each other.

"Why not?" Jonathan replied carefully. Jervis gradually nodded then smiled brightly.

"You're both mad," decided Riddler.


	17. What A Funny Watch

"Joker's escaped again." Jervis commented as he sat down. Jonathan gave a non-committal humph. He was still watching the guard. Jervis glanced idly round the room. Edward was just being escorted in. Jervis grinned widely and gestured him over. Riddler glanced across at Jonathan briefly before sitting himself by Jervis.

"And how doth the little crocodile?" Jervis enquired politely. Edward rose an eyebrow but replied none the less.

"Very bored. Honestly the sheer dullness of this place should be enough to drive us to reform."

"Perhaps that's their intention." Jonathan murmured without looking over.

"Come now," Jervis chided them. "There is nowhere the mind cannot turn into a Wonderland."

"The mind is an amazing thing," Nygma agreed. "There is nothing the human mind cannot overcome." He smiled somewhat smugly. "Especially a mind as advanced as mine."

"Ah, but fear is the mind killer." Jonathan turned his head to stare at Nygma. "What use is a mind in the grip of fear?" Edward scowled but Jervis interrupted before he could reply.

"That which appeareth in a dream, to one that sleepeth; or in a looking-glasse, to one that is awake…"

"Is that a riddle?" Jonathan turned back to watch Palmer.

"Which, men not knowing that such apparitions are nothing else but creatures of the fancy, think to be real. Hobbes… Leviathan." Riddler frowned in annoyance at him.

"Why must you quote things you _know_ I haven't read?" Jonathan continued to ignore him but Jervis looked surprised.

"You've read Alice's Adventures in Wonderland? Through the Looking Glass?"

"Well… no. But _they're_ quotable."

"Quotable?"

"Everyone's _heard_ of them. Like fairy tales. Everyone knows parts of the story… characters like the Mad Hatter," he gestured at Jervis. "Who's ever read Leviathan?"

"Fairy tales can differ," Jonathan said quietly. Jervis gave him a nervous look before continuing.

"I admit Leviathan is quite outdated now… but he certainly had some interesting ideas. Carroll mentions something similar in Through the Looking Glass. When you're only one of the things in his dream. You know very well you're not real. Isn't it an interesting concept?"

"What is reality, huh?"

"Indeed," Jervis grinned.

"Fascinating," Jonathan murmured. The others looked over to him.

"What?"

"Joker's break out happened on Palmer's watch. Since he's been having trouble sleeping recently," a brief smile appeared on Jonathan's face, "he blames himself for the slip."

"So?" Riddler crossed his arms. Jonathan gestured towards the guards.

"You might have expected him to have gone to Dr Arkham… confessed his error… perhaps even sought leave or help with his sleeping. But he's making excuses… claiming Joker slipped something into his drink." Riddler shrugged.

"How many people would walk up to their boss and say 'Hey, that psychopathic killer who escaped? It was probably my fault'."

"It's hardly like he _knows_ he's under our influence. Not consciously. He's probably aware of a nagging feeling of unease. A sense of helplessness perhaps…"

"Don't you see?" Jonathan demanded angrily. "It's a weakness! One we can manipulate. A fear of appearing weak! Strong, confident types seek help. Only those who fear they're weak don't _want_ to seek help because they think then everyone _else_ will think them weak!" Jervis frowned.

"Are you saying _we're_ weak because we're in here? Being forced to accept help whether we want it or not?"

"I think the distinction is," Edward mused, "that those strong enough to seek help only do so when they know they _need_ help. We've been put in here not because we need help but because the people out there simply do not understand us. I am not crazy. I can't speak for you two," he glanced them over, "but I'm in here because my intelligence is beyond the understanding of ordinary people. And people hate what they can't understand. Don't children always say they hate the subjects they simply cannot comprehend?" Jonathan watched Nygma with a thoughtful expression.

"People fear what they don't understand," he agreed.

"Or what's different," added Jervis. "Examples are all around us." The three companions considered this in silence.

"So… how do you plan to exploit this newly found weakness?" Riddler queried. Jonathan resumed his study of Palmer.

"A series of mishaps or mistakes on his watch would aggravate his sense of failure. Hhmm… Asthenophobia, the fear of weakness. Reference or hints that inmates consider the other guards as more threatening would encourage him in this belief." He held his chin in his hand and absently tapped a finger against his lips. "Atychiphobia, the fear of failure. If we could catch him out in protocol… making sure the doctors either see or find out…"

"Like my little game before?" Jervis grinned.

"Exactly. Lure him into making some trivial mistake but make sure it's noticed. As he gets more frustrated he'll make more mistakes and he'll be trapped in a cycle. Lack of sleep will add to it as well."

"It runs but can never flee. It is watched, yet never sees. When long it brings boredom but when short it brings fear." Jervis looked puzzled but Jonathan didn't even look over.

"We have nothing _but _time, Nygma."


	18. Contrariwise

Riddler was sitting with Jervis in the common room. He preferred it when Jonathan wasn't around. The man always acted so superior! Jervis however was a good listener. And Edward enjoyed being listened to.

"All men are created equal. So says the Declaration of Independence. This is patently not true. Disregarding the question of intelligence or strength which may be vastly disproportionate, society itself makes men unequal."

"You mean how men like Bruce Wayne are considered above those in his employ?" Edward nodded magnanimously.

"Certainly that is true. Wealth creates more barriers between men than intelligence or strength. But I was thinking in terms of our incarceration. By tiny actions that in themselves are unimportant, society singles out individuals. These individuals are thus placed in positions of pressure. The addition of some sort of disturbance that acts as a catalyst means they are in the unique position to see the world as it truly is. They see beyond the accepted 'norm'. Like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle that only you can see the completed picture for."

"So…" Jervis frowned, "we're not insane but insightful?" Edward laughed.

"Delightfully put! Mad, mat, met, wet, wit." Jervis grinned happily.

"A word ladder! How clever. Did you know Lewis Carroll created them?" Nygma chuckled good naturedly.

"You and your Carroll. It makes you predictable you know."

"Surely not as predictable as leaving clues for the police," Jervis pointed out. Riddler shrugged.

"Just something to make the game more interesting. These doctors seem to think I'm _obsessed._ As though I _couldn't_ commit a crime without leaving a clue!" Jervis didn't reply but chose to steer the conversation back.

"So are the other rogues as predictable?"

"Certainly," Riddler said confidently. "It would be child's play to play them to my own ends."

"Really?" Jervis raised an eyebrow.

"Two-face is obsessed with duality. Any hint of double-dealing or duplicity and he'd be interested. Ivy will do anything to protect her precious plants. Harley would do anything for her 'mistah J'…"

"Joker wouldn't be so easy surely."

"He's a compulsive joker… if you'll forgive the word play. Show him a joke and he can't resist filling in the punch line."

"And Jonathan?"

"Jonathan?" Riddler looked thoughtful. "The chance to study terror…" he hazarded.

"You're not as smart as you think," a cold voice spoke from behind him. Riddler carefully kept his face blank as Jonathan sat down opposite him. Turning back to Jervis he continued.

"Isn't it _irritating_ when your foot itches and you just can't reach it?" Jonathan scowled. Riddler smirked at him until a heavy object dropped onto his foot.

"Oooww!" He pulled his foot out from under Jonathan's cast and was about to say something else when a guard came over.

"What was that? What's going on?" He shot a wide-eyed, paranoid look across the trio and Riddler realised it was Palmer.

"Nothing." Jonathan shrugged.

"Don't take that tone with me!" the guard almost shrieked. "I know you're up to something."

"Don't be rude!" Jervis snapped at him. Palmer opened his mouth, then shut it again. As he was struggling to work out what was happening the duty doctor arrived.

"Is there a problem?"

"They… that is… he…"

"He trod on my foot," Riddler stated. The doctor shot a look at the guard.

"That's not true!"

"Look for yourself then." Edward pulled off the soft footwear the inmates wore and held his foot out for inspection. A bruise was clearly beginning to show.

"He seemed to be under the impression we were planning an escape." Jonathan added.

"Though how that would be possible with your foot in that cast I don't know." Jervis shook his head and gave Palmer a pitying look.

"I wasn't… that is I'm sure you were planning something… but I didn't…"

"Palmer. A word." The doctor gestured towards the doorway and the conspirators watched them closely. It was clear that the guard was getting a warning from the doc. He kept his eyes lowered and didn't appear to reply in anything more than a monosyllable.

"That worked out well," Jonathan commented.

"For you," Edward muttered as he pulled on his shoe again. He suddenly focused on Jonathan, who was still watching the doctor talk to Palmer, and a slow smile spread across his face. Jonathan caught his look and frowned.

"What's that look for?"

"I just remembered something. Your dismissal form the university," he paused to savour Jonathan's deepening scowl. "It was because of your desire to unwind people's psyches wasn't it?"

"I was demonstrating the full psychological effects of fear," he replied coldly.

"Hhm. You're not so much fascinated by the study of fear as how people react." Edward continued calmly.

"I _know_ how people react. I can tailor the specific catalyst needed to produce any type of reaction. The precise level of fear to induce violence, panic, suicide…" he deliberately hesitated on the last word but Edward ignored the implication.

"I wonder…" he appeared to think about it. "But how could you demonstrate it?"

"I'd be more than happy to demonstrate it on _you_." He smiled but he didn't look happy. Edward frowned.

"Inducing me to suicide would hardly allow me to appreciate the skill and intelligence used, now would it?" A faint twitch on Jonathan's face showed the hidden compliment had had the desired effect. "Perhaps next time we're out you could demonstrate on a different Rogue? So I could observe. If you think you could compile a sufficient evaluation…"

"I was the best professor of psychology that university ever had! I could give you a psyche evaluation on anyone in here far more detailed than any the so-called doctors could provide. I treated you, didn't I Jervis?" Edward glanced at the Hatter in surprise.

"It's true. I've been much happier following our sessions." Jonathan sat back smugly then returned his attention to his study of the guard. Edward leaned across to Jervis.

"And thus I have Scarecrow doing my bidding."

_____________________________________________________________________

My own way of paying homage to the great comic 'Hush'.


	19. Nothing But A Pack Of Cards

Palmer felt hyper-aware. He could feel the shift in air currents as Pete moved on the other side of the room. He could smell the unique bodily odours of every inmate in the room, marking them like a fingerprint. He could hear every whispered conversation, distinctly recognising his own name as it left the lips of every rogue in there. The paths of the doctors were marked to him as trails of medicinal tastes. And he could see without looking the continuous glare of the Scarecrow.

He smiled. Everything made sense now. Like a caterpillar metamorphosing, he'd realised his true purpose. Let the others think he was paranoid. He knew the truth.

It had been difficult at first, when he hadn't understood. He wondered now that he'd ever thought he needed so much sleep. It obviously dulled the senses. Everything was so much clearer to him now. He had no doubt or confusion.

The doctors here were fools! Thinking they made a difference. Thinking they could cure these people! These people weren't _ill_, they just _were_. Like a virus. You could help those affected but who in their right mind would try to heal a virus?

And just as each virus had it's own antibody, so too did each inmate have their own foil. He was Scarecrow's.

He clenched his nightstick more tightly.

It had been a relief to him to realise this. It no longer mattered that the Joker had escaped on his watch. Scarecrow hadn't. Did it matter that the Mad Hatter complained about his treatment? He only had to worry about keeping Crane in line. Who cared that the Riddler mocked his general lack of authority? He had authority where it mattered. Scarecrow couldn't do anything without him knowing it. They were bound in a deadly conflict. The first one to blink would lose.

He gripped his baton tighter. For weeks now he'd felt wrong footed and stressed. The doctor's talking down to him and suggesting a vacation! He couldn't leave Scarecrow unguarded for an instant. Even when he wasn't here he knew, _knew_, whether he was needed. _That_ was why he couldn't sleep at night. He couldn't let his guard down for an instant.

The other guards didn't understand. Chatting away about their wives or girlfriends or football… as though any of that mattered! Their petty lives out there were insignificant to their existence in here. They all thought he was paranoid but he knew the truth. He heard the inmates whispering, always whispering, rumours and lies. His eye met Scarecrow's. The man didn't flinch.

No, not a man, he corrected himself. A man of straw. Not really real. Scarecrow only existed in the mind. In the flesh he was merely Jonathan Crane. But he insinuated himself into people's minds as a terrifying figure… the Scarecrow. Only Palmer stood between the monstrosity and everyone else.

His knuckles turned white as he held the truncheon that was his only weapon in here. Hs mind was working too fast. As though his mind had advanced beyond the limitations of his body. He knew too much, couldn't filter the information. Everyone was talking, a continuous susurration of noise. He focused his attention again on the Scarecrow. A fixed point in an ever changing surround.

"Nothing else matters," he muttered to himself. He felt his breathing ease. He had to remain focused. Ignore the inconsequential figures on the sidelines, the other guards, doctors, inmates. He had to remain focused. He was conscious of the supreme importance of the position he was in. If he failed, the Scarecrow would escape. The terror he'd doubtless planned would be _his_ fault. For relaxing his vigilance. For not acting in time to thwart his schemes. Everything depended on him.

His eyes remained fixed on Scarecrow. He hardly dared blink. Time no longer held any meaning. There was simply the now. The waiting. The certainty that the critical moment was near.

Jonathan stood up. Palmer tensed so he hardly dared breathe. Everything else faded to nothing. The moment had come. The world slowed down as he saw the man of straw begin to move across the room, towards Palmer himself.

'_So, he seeks to challenge me.'_ The guard strode towards the inmate. His new awareness whispered to him that the other creatures were watching them. Insubstantial as ghosts besides the solid reality. The man of straw whispered to him, so quietly that only he, with his acute senses, could hear him.

"You fear me." Palmer hefted his nightstick but held back as though an invisible hand rested on his arm. "You _need_ to stop me don't you?" Scarecrow's eyes glittered with madness. "You know there's only one way out of this."

"I can't let you walk out of here," Palmer was surprised by his own voice. It didn't sound how he remembered but he knew it was the right voice now.

"Then stop me," Scarecrow hissed. Palmer felt then that the moment was here. As Scarecrow took another step forward, he acted.

Asked later, he couldn't describe what had happened. Everything after Scarecrow's last words was a blank. But he was certain he'd done what had to be done. He repeated it to everyone. To Pete who dragged him away, yelling,

"What are you doing?"

To the doctors who asked again and again,

"What were you thinking?"

To Doctor Arkham himself who only wanted to know,

"Why?"

"Someone had to stop him. Someone had to stop him."


	20. Snark Be A Boojum

Joan Leland surveyed Jonathan across her desk. He was not a pretty sight. The whole left side of his face was a mass of yellow and purple bruising. She knew from the doctor's report that he had several cracked ribs and torn ligaments to go with the multiple bruises that covered his body. Ironically though, his broken foot had now completely healed.

She glanced at her notes. This was their first session since the incident with Palmer and Jonathan had spent the last week confined to solitary. She knew that wouldn't have bothered him. He had multiple personality disorder and if anything solitary only acerbated the problem. She would have to speak to Dr Arkham again about finding an alternative punishment. For now she had to deal with it.

Prior to the incident, she had been making some progress. However he was now giving her the silent treatment, whether in protest at his punishment or as a consequence of a week in solitary she wasn't sure. She hadn't become a senior doctor at the home for the criminally insane by chance though. She looked up with a smile.

"I see we were going to discuss Jervis. I'm pleased you've made a friend here, Jonathan." He rolled his eyes.

"Could you _be_ any more patronising?"

"I'm sorry," she lied. "I _had_ hoped you might be encouraged by his progress."

"Encouraged by it? I'm responsible for it!" Dr Leland paused as she considered again this latest delusion of Jonathan's. She wondered if it was a sign of Dr Crane's personality resurfacing? If so she didn't want to discourage him.

"Do you think about returning to psychology? When you're released from here?" He smiled at her in a most unpleasant way.

"Returning to it? I never left."

"You say you're responsible for Jervis' improvement…"

"A fellow that fancied himself a teapot." Joan raised an eyebrow at the quotation and noted it down.

"As I was saying, if you're responsible for Jervis' improvement, why use _his_ technology to attack the guard? You must have realised it could have damaged his chance for parole."

"The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as best I could; but when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge."

"If Palmer had acted inappropriately to you… why not simply say so at our session? I'm here to _help_ you Jonathan." He suddenly sat forward.

"Are you?" he sneered. "It's a bit hard to tell from where I'm sitting." He gestured at his own damaged face. Dr Leland frowned at him.

"In all likelihood Palmer wasn't responsible for his actions. You had been psychologically torturing him and I don't believe for a minute you didn't know he was about to snap." Jonathan looked smug and Leland reminded herself her patient was not wholly responsible for his actions either.

"Was there any _particular_ reason why you chose to single out Palmer?"

"Does it matter?" he shrugged. "They're all the same."

"No, Jonathan. It _does_ matter. It is important for you to realise you cannot punish _everyone_ for the crimes of a few."

"Isn't that what the guards do? When there's an escape, isn't it those still here who bear the guard's anger?"

"Come now Jonathan," Joan smiled reassuringly. "I think that's a trifle paranoid. Security is naturally tightened after a break out. The guard's have nothing personal against anyone here."

"No. They're equally obnoxious to everyone."

Dr Leland paused. This line of questioning seemed to be agitating him. She returned to her earlier track.

"I believe you enjoyed playing chess with Jervis. Perhaps you could play with Edward?"

"Nygma? Why should I want to play with him?"

"It's good for you to interact with the other inmates, Jonathan. That's why we give you free time. So you can practise the skills used in society…"

"I _know_ why you want us to _mingle,_" he interrupted irritably. "But why do you want me to play with Nygma?" She blinked.

"The duty doctor said you'd been talking with him recently."

"Yes? So?"

"Well… since Jervis is no longer with us…"

"What? What do you mean 'Jervis is no longer with us'?" She actually flinched back from the sudden fury in his tone.

"Jervis' parole was granted," she answered as calmly as she could.

"**What?**" If he hadn't been restrained Joan knew he'd have leapt at her. She held her position. "How could he have been paroled after everything with Palmer?"

"It seemed clear to the judges that _you_ were the prime motivator in that. Though Jervis' technology was utilised it was very clearly your M.O. Dr Bartholomew successfully argued that you were a negative influence upon his patient and that Jervis would benefit from being in normal society." She was pleased to see Jonathan had calmed down during her explanation. Now he actually smiled.

"Society," he murmured. "And why should society treat him any differently now?"

"Admittedly he will have prejudices to overcome…" she began but Jonathan was clearly warming to his theme.

"Society itself selects us to represent those aspects of itself it would rather not accept. They wish to superimpose upon us the characteristics they wish to deny they themselves have… to lock them away… out of sight out of mind."

"And what aspects do you believe you represent?" she asked though she knew the answer.

"Fear. The fear that's lain inside humanity since it's inception. The fear that people believe they're too civilised to be prey to. _You_ know every man fears his neighbour. Because ultimately we all compete for the same resources. While there's plenty they can pretend to be civilised but when those resources are taken away…" Jonathan's eyes glittered.

"And Jervis? What does _he_ represent to society?" Jonathan seemed slightly taken aback.

"Jervis? Jervis represents the id. That part of us that wants something and won't take no for an answer. Jealousy, envy…"

"The id. If not compelled by reality it seeks immediate enjoyment. It is focused on selfishness and instant self-gratification," Joan recited. Jonathan looked at her coldly.

"I wouldn't have put it quite like that…" A knock on the door interrupted them and Dr Leland glanced up at the clock.

"OK. Well, I think we've made some good progress today, Jonathan." He was pulled up by his escort and lead to the door. "We'll continue this next time."

"Mark my words, doctor," he called over his shoulder. "Before our next meeting, Jervis will be back where he belongs."


	21. A Curious Dream

The walls had begun closing in on Jervis. In desperation at losing his mind he'd fled out onto the streets. Now in the fresh air he reflected at the absurdity of it. He'd spent months locked up in a cell at Arkham… why should sitting in a flat bring on an attack of claustrophobia?

_Perhaps it was the lack of company?_ he mused. In Arkham he'd had daily contact with others… either in the form of doctors or inmates. Even on a bad day he'd been able to speak with the guards. Out here, though there were certainly plenty of people around, there was no-one he could talk to. He remembered something Jonathan had once said… It is often much harder for a man to be alone in a crowd than in the desert. He sighed and let his feet carry him along the busy streets.

Looking up he recognised his old workplace… Wayne Industries. Without guidance his feet had carried him along remembered routes. He felt a sudden desire to see Alice. He remembered how her smile used to brighten his day… even when he was feeling low. More than anything he just wanted to see a familiar face. To be reassured he wasn't forgotten in the world.

Cautiously he headed towards the building. It was coming up to 5 o'clock. If she _was_ still working here then she'd be heading out soon. Without hesitation he headed round to the car park. A quick glance confirmed she was still here. And she was still driving her little old car. He remembered how fond of it she'd been. She'd told him how she'd had to save for it. Looking at it now he wondered how anyone could stand to drive such a battered vehicle when it was so easy to come by better if one were only willing to bend the rules.

Waiting in the shadows he heard her voice, calling goodbye to some colleague. He was struck by how strained it sounded. So false. Had she sounded like that when she'd spoken to him? Had her cheerful manner been an act? Jonathan always told him his memories were seen through rose tinted glasses. Was it all really true? He watched her walk over to her car. He was shocked at how ordinary she seemed. Her hair was a dull blonde… not gold. Her eyes looked lifeless… no sign of the sparkle he remembered. There was no warm smile… only a somewhat stressed frown. Probably worrying about something mundane like what to cook for dinner. He almost laughed. He'd tried to show her the possibilities of a life less ordinary. She couldn't break away from her safe routine.

Sadly he shook his head. Without a sound he let her get in her car and drive away. They were truly world's apart now. He could see that now. As he walked away from his old life he wondered what might have happened if she had chosen him. Would he be even now worrying about a mortgage? Would their lives together revolve around a hurried meal and watching some TV drama? Both too stressed and tired to bother with enjoying life? He couldn't imagine living that life now. And she clearly hadn't the imagination to see what life could really be.

He glanced about himself as he realised he'd left the busy thoroughfare. He was in a quaint little street with curious shops. To his side was a window display filled with antiques. On a whim he stepped inside and began to browse through the curio on display. His ear caught a conversation from the counter.

"Look kid, you don't have any kind of experience of what it takes to run a shop. Though you're keen I'll grant you that. How old are you anyway?"

"I'm nineteen and I've helped out at the shop where I used to live, in Pennsylvania, every weekend since I was sixteen. _And_ it's Miss McArthur, not _kid_." The guy at the counter sighed.

"Alright. I'll hire you part-time so long as you go to college, get a degree in art history or library science or something like that. But if you start missing classes or if I hear you're failing then that's it. Got it?"

"Absolutely Mr Harper." He gave her a long look before nodding.

"Fine. You can start next week. We'll arrange your hours once you've got your college schedule." With another Cheshire cat grin the girl turned and left.

Jervis watched her go out of the corner of his eye. There went someone who knew what she wanted and worked to get it. Again he shook his head. He was surrounded by people living life by the rules. Didn't they realise how easy things could be if you just went beyond those bounds?

Alice was trapped by her own sheep mentality. That girl thought she was taking life by the reins, when in reality life was still controlling _her_. They were both the same. Just like the White Queen who was also the Sheep. He grinned at the thought.

Leaving the shop he began to trudge back towards his bland flat. Life shouldn't be like this. Why should he settle for this drudgery when it would be so easy to set himself up comfortably somewhere else? Somewhere no-one knew him. Away from the damned Bat. One big job and he could leave all this behind. If he managed it carefully he might never need to look for money again. His thoughts wandered to a life of luxury on an isolated island somewhere. No job to tie him down, only leisure to sip tea and read. No people to disapprove, though maybe a few friends staying with him for company. Nothing to worry him…

He stopped in mid walk as his mind focussed on the word 'worry'. He could feel his mind beginning to buzz as a plan started to form.

"You want a paper?" Suddenly he realised he'd stopped by a newspaper stand. The guy running it held out some rag and instinctively Jervis took it. After a hesitation he reached into his pocket and passed over some change. As he continued to walk he felt the initial buzz of the idea begin to fade. Details were what were needed now. His eye scanned the paper in front of him and were caught on a small article barely a couple of inches long. As he approached his own front door again a Cheshire cat grin spread across his face.

_____________________________________________________________________

My thanks to Jenni Lynn for allowing Alysyn McArthur to appear in this story. If you want to see her future read 'Down the Rabbit Hole' .net/s/4923030/1/


	22. Though I Am An Insect

Jonathan glanced round at the crowd in the common room. He felt watched… and not just by the guards. It was like that feeling of walking into a room… which suddenly quiets… and you _know_ that people were talking about you. It brought back unwanted memories. Anxiously he scanned the other inmates.

Riddler glanced up from his crossword as he looked at him. For a moment he looked blank as if he hadn't seen Jonathan, then he smirked and turned back to his puzzle.

'_Arrogant fool,_' murmured Scarecrow. '_See how he flaunts his own intellect over you?_'

"He's not that smart," Jonathan scoffed quietly.

'_No… he doesn't deserve to be considered on the same level as Scarecrow!'_

"He isn't… he's a joke." His eyes naturally moved over to where Joker was laughing at something on the TV. Following the clown's gaze Jonathan saw he was in fact watching the news. Typical clown.

'_He's just like all the others… laughing at you behind your back._' Jonathan narrowed his eyes. He often felt people were making fun of him.

"He laughs at everyone," he pointed out.

'_Does that make it better? The bullies torment everyone… does that excuse them?_'

"No," Jonathan admitted.

"_You shouldn't stand for it! You should still his laughter with a silent scream of terror,_" Scarecrow insisted.

"My toxins don't work on him," Jonathan hedged. Truthfully he was wary of the Clown Prince of Crime. He was unpredictable… and deadly.

Jonathan focussed on the television to see if he could discern what had amused the Joker. A small part of him wondered if perhaps Jervis had carried out an elaborate plot that was even now entertaining the clown prince. It took Jonathan a moment to realise that Joker was in fact watching an article on Robinson Park. Why should that make him laugh? Unless…

His eyes drifted down the sofa to where Poison Ivy was staring in obvious irritation at the screen. He watched her glare at Joker who contrived to look innocent. As Jonathan continued to observe, he saw her turn and lean provocatively over the end of the settee. A passing guard also noticed and was graced with a full lipped smile that hinted of seductive pleasures. Promptly the channel was switched to a quiz show.

As Ivy turned back, her eye caught Jonathan's and she flashed him a satisfied smile.

'_Beware the jubjub bird!_' warned Scarecrow. Jonathan started slightly at the reference but muttered.

"This is the Black Widow." Scarecrow didn't need to warn Jonathan about the many cruelties of women. He hadn't known a single woman who hadn't in some way betrayed him. Except perhaps…

His eye shifted across to the corner where Harley was sitting miserably. She _had_ been sitting with her mistah J but Joker had quickly tired of her and sent her packing. It was only lucky he'd done so verbally rather than his usual method.

'_They told me you had been to her._' Jonathan frowned at this remark. It was more like something Jervis would have said than Scarecrow… and he was currently rather irritated with Jervis. It had been weeks without any hint of a heist.

"What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

'_She's more dangerous than the other one,_' Scarecrow's scratchy voice replied. '_She seems harmless but she could hurt you all the more for that. You remember don't you?_'

"Yes," Jonathan murmured, cowed. "I remember." He shivered. He could sense Scarecrow's smug amusement. His alter ego could be more like a curse sometimes. Across the room Jonathan could see Two-Face sitting in conversation with himself. At least _his_ duality was plain for everyone to see. Nobody blamed Harvey Dent for the crimes of Two-Face. It was common knowledge that the doctors… and even the Bat… felt more pity for him than any of _them_. No-one felt pity for Jonathan.

'_We don't __**want**__ pity! We want revenge!_'

"Yes," Jonathan agreed. "Revenge on the bullies."

'_Fools,_' Scarecrow muttered.

"All fools." Jonathan clenched his fists angrily.

"What was that?" Jonathan blinked and looked up. Before him stood Waylon Jones… otherwise known as Killer Croc. More crocodile than man, and extremely violent. Jonathan opened his mouth to say something but found his mind blank. Croc was clenching his fists and Jonathan recognised the gesture from every beating he'd ever suffered. Always the same. The bullies never cared if he deserved it or not, they only cared whether it would amuse them. It didn't matter if he ran, fought, pleaded or gave in… the ending was always the same. Pain and a mocking laugh. A small part of his mind, neither him nor Scarecrow, wondered how they always knew when he'd just finished healing.

"How doth the little crocodile improve his shining tail…" Both inmates turned to the speaker. "And pour the waters of the Nile on every golden scale?" Jervis stood grinning widely at them both.

"Huh?" Croc looked confused.

"How cheerfully he seems to grin!" Jervis continued. "How neatly spread his claws and welcomes little fishes in with gently smiling jaws!" Croc turned back to Jonathan.

"What's he on about?" Jonathan smiled languidly.

"I believe he was enquiring as to which of the new fish had caught your attention?"

"New fish?"

"The new inmates… Zeus and Ventriloquist. Which do you suppose will crack first?"

"Huh, that's easy. Vetr… Venti… the puppet guy."

"Hhhmm? I wonder…" Jonathan reclined back in his chair as Jervis took his seat on the other side of the table.

"But Zeus is bigger," Croc pointed out.

"Brains over brawn though." Croc frowned and slammed a scaly hand onto the table.

"I'll bet you $100 the little guy caves in a week." Jonathan tapped his chin thoughtfully before agreeing.

"Done." Croc nodded and stalked away to inspect the new fish. After a moment Jonathan turned to Jervis.

"Did you have a nice holiday?"

"Do you know, I did?" Jervis grinned happily. "I went to South America."

"Really?" Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "You're just full of surprises aren't you?"


	23. One To Come, And One To Go

"Alright, Jonathan. I'm going to say a name and I want you to respond with whatever comes to mind. OK?" He leant back with arms crossed and an expression of sullen resignation. She took this as permission to continue.

"Two-Face."

"William Wilson." Dr Leland resisted a sigh. Some days Jonathan could be most wilfully stubborn but she wouldn't let it put her off.

"Joker."

"Imp of the Perverse." It wouldn't be so bad, she mused, if he didn't _enjoy_ making her go through this charade.

"Poison Ivy."

"_Jubjub bird._" Dr Leland's head snapped up. That was new. Jonathan looked as surprised as she did and she suddenly realised that had been _Scarecrow_. But why should Scarecrow interrupt with that particular comment? Jonathan had recovered his poise and was now glaring defiantly at her. She looked back down as though reading from her notes, though in truth she had this list memorised now.

"Harley Quinn."

"Marie Roget." She recognised the clear cut tone of control in his voice. He would not be so careless again yet the very familiarity of the exercise had relaxed his defences sufficiently to give her a rare insight.

"Edward Nygma."

"An Enigma." A slight smile touched Jonathan's lips at the aptness of his quote. Dr Leland had heard it before.

"Killer Croc."

"The Man That Was Used Up."

"Jervis Tetch." Jonathan hesitated slightly.

"House of Usher." Dr Leland paused. This too was new. She carefully laid her notes down.

"While we're on the subject," she sensed Jonathan's defences tense even as she spoke. "I wanted to talk to you about the Mad Hatter."

"Jervis." Jonathan spoke in a tone that might have been reproach or curiosity.

"Yes." She paused briefly. "Would you say you were _good_ friends?" He considered this a long moment before reciting.

"I have, indeed, no abhorrence of danger, except in its absolute effect – in terror." She studied him as she sourced the quote.

"The Fall of the House of Usher." He briefly nodded. She continued carefully, unsure how he would react. "Jervis' doctor… Dr Bartholomew… thinks you're having a negative influence on his patient." Jonathan frowned. "His argument, as it was before Jervis' parole, is that without your influence Jervis would be likely to make a full recovery."

"If it weren't for _me_, his patient would be dead," Jonathan pointed out with restraint.

"Personally I feel it's very promising for you," she agreed. "But I have to respect Dr Bartholomew's wishes. Dr Arkham has agreed to his request that for the time being you aren't allowed to have any sort of intercourse with Jervis." Jonathan narrowed his eyes.

"And what of _my_ wishes?" he demanded. "Am I to be forbidden contact with _everybody_ in case I _have a negative influence_?" He sneered. Dr Leland frowned at him.

"Now Jonathan, Dr Bartholomew had a strong argument that Jervis' latest relapse was at least in part due to your influence on him…"

"It's **my** influence that cured him of his Alice obsession!" Dr Leland kept her own voice calm.

"Surely if you are really interested in helping cure Jervis you'll be happy to at least trial this solution?" Jonathan sat back with folded arms, clearly not happy at all.

"It won't work," he said simply.

*

"Now, Jervis. I want your opinion…"

"Your hair wants cutting." Jervis grinned happily. Dr Bartholomew gave him a stern frown.

"Now, Jervis, please. I'll say a name and you reply with the first thing that comes into your head." Jervis clapped happily.

"Come, we shall have some fun now!" The doctor ignored this comment.

"Two-Face"

"Ugly Duchess."

"Joker."

"The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts, and took them quite away!"

"_Thank you_, Jervis. Pamela Isley."

"Jubjub bird."

"Harley Quinn."

"Marie Roget." Dr Bartholomew stopped.

"Roget? Not Ann?"

"Poor Marie Roget." Jervis shook his head sadly. Dr Bartholomew frowned in confusion before pressing on.

"Edward Nygma."

"Dormouse!"

"Killer Croc."

"How doth the little crocodile…"

"Yes, thank you." The doctor paused slightly. "Jonathan Crane."

"The Master of the House of Usher." Dr Bartholomew carefully put down his pen.

"Now, Jervis. I wanted to discuss your interaction with Scarecrow."

"Jonathan," Jervis reminded him gently.

"Yes. Well, Dr Arkham has agreed that to encourage your recovery, you'll be given separate meal times, separate free time, separate shower time… everything." He smiled encouragingly. Jervis however was not encouraged.

"But who shall I play chess with? Who else will discuss Carroll? Who'll have tea with me?" Jervis wrung his hands fretfully.

"This is precisely _why_ I requested a separation," Dr Bartholomew sighed. "He's a negative influence. He encourages your 'Mad Hatter' persona."

"But I _am_ the Mad Hatter!" His doctor frowned.

"We've been over this Jervis. The Mad Hatter is a character in a book…"

"Twinkle, twinkle, little bat," Jervis covered his ears as he sang. "How I wonder what you're at…"

"Jervis! This is for your own good."

"What about Jonathan?"

"Scarecrow?"

"Yes! Surely if _he's_ a negative influence on _me_ then contrariwise _I'm_ a positive influence on _him_."

"But we're not discussing Scarecrow's treatment. We're discussing _yours_."

"No we're not! You're _telling_ me!" Jervis shouted. "I won't be **controlled** like this!" As Jervis grew more agitated the guards hurried in and physically removed him. The last thing the doctor heard was him shouting down the corridor.

"And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting on the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door!"


	24. What Does It Mean

The asylum was always surprisingly noisy at night. The guards often said that if they weren't crazy when they went in, they certainly would be after lights out. Not within ear shot of any doctors though. There was always a doctor on duty at the asylum… in case of emergency. It was arranged on a shift system so they all got a break. Otherwise, as they said, they'd end up there permanently.

It was at night that those patients with multiple personalities suffered most. During the comings and goings during the day, their other personalities could be effectively drowned out, thanks in part to the strong medication. During the dark, quiet night, the medication simply wasn't strong enough. Dr Bartholomew kept suggesting effectively knocking out those schizophrenic patients, basically to keep them quiet. Or maybe _all_ the inmates, to keep them from escaping.

He'd been called down to the guard's room because apparently the patients were doing something odd. And if the guard's at Arkham thought the patients were doing something odd… it must really be strange.

The two guards on duty here turned to him as he entered. He recognised them both as experienced men, not likely to overreact.

"OK. What's going on?"

"They seem to be playing some sort of game… almost like Chinese whispers," Pete reported.

"Who?" Dr Bartholomew moved closer to the grainy screens.

"Scarecrow, Two-Face, Joker, Riddler, and Hatter."

"When did it start?"

"Joe noticed it on his last patrol." The doctor sighed.

"Right. Well I'll take a look."

He left the guards to monitor the screens while he went to listen in. Ordinarily he wouldn't be bothered by the inmates whispering to each other at night. After all they couldn't prevent that. But he was bothered if Scarecrow was trying to pass messages to Jervis. It was a direct insult to his authority. When he reached the secure wing he stood and listened in to their 'game'.

"Down, down, down. Would the fall _never_ come to an end?" That, of course, was Jervis. Riddler's nasal voice took up the conversation.

"My first is in bed, but not dead. The second's a ring. The third is rare but never alien. The fourth is the beginning of the end, yet the last's the beginning of dawn."

"Two guys go into a pub." Joker's cheerful tone was instantly recognisable. "The first guy orders some drinks. Then while they're waiting, the second guy shoots the first. As the bar keep brings over the drinks he asks; 'Why'd you do that?' The second guys says; 'I was bored'!"

"Life is as tedious as a twice told tale." There was a hesitation after Two-Face before Scarecrow spoke.

"Of Doctor Ponnonner nothing better was to be expected. He is a poor little, fat, fool who _knows_ no better."

"Perhaps we should ask for a second opinion."

"Doctor, doctor, people keep saying I'm rude. _Why do you think that is?_ How should I know, you blithering old fool!"

"Doc… dob… dab… day… dry… pry… pre… are, ape!" Again there was a pause before Jervis replied.

"It's an invention of my own. It's as well to be provided for _everything_."

"I am not broken yet am incomplete alone. What are my brothers and sisters when we're together?"

"You know what's the greatest joke of all? People who put together these great big civilisations… with their 'rules' and 'society'. And you know what? It'll all come crumbling down!"

"It takes two to make a quarrel."

"This fissure rapidly widened…I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder."

"Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble."

"Ooh! I've got a good one! What's black and white and red all over?" Joker giggled. Riddler sniffed derisively but added,

"What gets bigger the more you take away?" Jervis laughed and began to sing.

"Hush-a-by lady, in Alice's lap!  
Till the feast's ready, we've time for a nap.  
When the feast's over, we'll go to the ball.  
Red Queen, and White Queen, and Alice, and all!"

The sound of Joker's hyena-like laugh echoed throughout the corridor, effectively putting a stop to any 'game' they'd been playing. Dr Bartholomew wandered back to the guard room with a frown on his face.

Scarecrow was clearly trying to send Jervis a message but what had it been? His initial comments had clearly been an attempt to turn Jervis against his treatment. A rather petty attempt in his view. But what of his second message? Fissure? Asunder? Did Scarecrow accept that they were going to be kept apart now? He would have to ask Scarecrow's doctor what she thought.

He prided himself that he knew his own patient well. Jervis' comments had betrayed boredom, a wish to create and then enjoyment. The enjoyment could be explained by the entertainment afforded him by the 'game'. He'd have to ask Dr Arkham whether Jervis could take up some hobby… like the Ventrioquist was allowed.

No… he wasn't concerned about Jervis here. It was the comments of the other inmates that worried him. He didn't trust any of them but wasn't familiar enough with them to understand the meaning behind their phrases.

As he returned to the awaiting guards they looked to him for instructions. He hesitated briefly.

"Nothing to be concerned about. I'll confer with Dr Leland when she's next in but I'm sure they aren't planning anything tonight." The guards nodded and returned their attention to the screen. Dr Bartholomew fixed his eyes upon Scarecrow. "Just keep a close eye on Scarecrow," he added.


	25. The Trial

Before I start – the quotes in the last chapter. Jervis' were from Lewis Carroll (naturally) and Jonathan's were from Poe ("Some Words With A Mummy" and "The Fall Of The House Of Usher"). Riddler's riddles were for 'Bored', 'Jigsaw' and a 'Hole'. The general conversation ran as follows –

Jervis: I'm bored  
Jonathan: The doctors are fools  
Jervis: I've got the parts I need  
Jonathan: We'll take this place apart  
Jervis: What fun!

Hope that helps everyone!

* * *

The door to Jonathan's cell opened to reveal Jervis, dressed in his full Mad Hatter regalia.

"Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?" Jonathan grinned and stood up, stretching his long limbs.

"I've been most _frightfully_ bored." Jervis produced a cardboard box, which he handed to Jonathan. The taller man almost reverently lifted the lid and pulled out his burlap mask. Jervis pulled a pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket and exclaimed,

"Oh my fur and whiskers! I'm late." He hurried off to release the other inmates while Jonathan pulled on the garb of the Scarecrow.

As he stepped out into the hallway, he could hear the hoots and calls of the other inmates being released. He felt himself relax and tuned his ears for the cries of the guards. Ideally their screams of terror as they were overrun but he'd settle for shouts of defiance that would lead him to them.

"_After all,_" hissed Scarecrow. "T_he bullies must pay._" Hearing nothing in this wing, he headed towards the storage cupboard from which Jervis had liberated his clothes. For the criminally inclined, it was an Aladdin's cave of wonders. Jonathan selected a wicked looking scythe that he vaguely remembered having before a previous visit.

He continued his hunt but could feel his unease growing. There should be screams of despair! Guards cowering in corners! Doctors locked in offices! He especially wanted to visit the good Dr Bartholomew…

"The trial's beginning! Come on." He turned to stare at the Mad Hatter.

"A trial?" he repeated blankly.

"Well… it was Joker's idea but Two-Face and Riddler were all for it," he prattled. "And of course Harley wanted to do whatever _he_ wanted to do so naturally poison Ivy decided to hang about…"

"_Who's_ trial?" Jonathan interrupted.

"Why… the Batman's of course."

"It's ridiculous."

"Come now. It surely has a certain appeal." Jervis smiled.

"Alice's Evidence, huh?" Jonathan rose an eyebrow. "_I can't go no lower_," he sneered.

"Pish posh."

"Where's Bartholomew?" Jonathan demanded. Jervis' grin widened.

"Ah! I _thought_ you might like a session with my dear doctor." Jonathan remained silent and Jervis became more serious. "I've left him sat in his office." Jonathan turned away at once. "You won't kill him will you?"

"Now where would the fun be in that?"

"Capitol. Just remember to replace the card when you're done." His cheerful smile snapped back into place. "Now, I really must hurry! There's so much to do!" Jonathan watched him bustle off before turning and, slowly and methodically, walking towards Dr Bartholomew's office.

*

When Jonathan rejoined the others later, a great deal of preparation had been done. Ms Van Dorn, the district attorney, was secure. As was the Bat. A room had been prepared for the trial and Jonathan found he was to be one of the jurors. He sat down heavily as the other inmates rushed about.

"Did we enjoy ourselves?" He looked up to see Jervis had materialised beside him.

"It was very… satisfying."

"Hhmm…" Jervis studied Jonathan's unusually calm composure. "Well, you can tell me all about it later. It's time to begin!" Jonathan smiled at Jervis' enthusiasm and complacently followed the others into 'court'.

His session with Dr Bartholomew had given him a pleasant sense of calm… much more so than his usual sessions with Dr Leland. He felt back in control, having turned the tables on those who'd tried to put him down. He was even willing to deal with Ms Van Dorn without so much as a whisper of a threat.

The trial was a farce of course. But to his mind so were _all_ trials. The verdict was generally known in advance… or in most cases _arranged_ in advance. He pondered this question as Jervis was giving his evidence. What was that quote? Sentence first, verdict afterwards? He'd have to reread Lewis Carroll one day. The man obviously knew more than people realised.

Wouldn't it be fitting if _this_ trial… in a home for the supposed insane… everything was done fairly? His eye met Jervis' as the man returned to his seat and he suspected he had the same idea.

He watched as Van Dorn questioned the others. Jervis had organised this whole event. Yes it had been Joker's idea but the clown wasn't interested in details. He just wanted to play judge. And Two-Face hadn't wanted to be too involved since he was acting for the prosecution. So most of the details were down to Jervis. And who had Jervis selected as witnesses? Himself, Harley and Ivy. The three least influenced by the Batman.

Any half competent DA could show that Jervis turned to crime because of his obsession with 'Alice', Harley her obsession with Joker and Ivy with plants. If he'd wanted the trial to show Batman was truly responsible he'd have arranged Joker or Two-Face. It was all through the looking glass.

"Jonathan?" He realised the others were gathering to decide and quickly joined them.

"What a delightful riddle! What came first? The villains or the B at?"

"What we gotta discuss? I say we hit 'im with a rock!"

"If all the world's a stage," Jonathan pondered. "And all the men and women merely players… can any one actor be said to truly influence another?" He saw Jervis grin.

"Mistah J always says he wouldn't be the man he is if it weren't for the Bat."

"Men are such babies! Always looking for someone to blame. At least I'm not afraid to take responsibility for my own actions."

"Very well then. I think we're agreed." The others glanced at each other as Jervis stood up but Jonathan's gaze didn't budge.

"Your honour. In light of Ms Van Dorn's stirring defence, we have no choice but to find the defendant… not guilty."


	26. A CaucusRace

Jervis was quietly reading Leviathan when he heard Jonathan beginning to stir. He didn't look up from his book yet though. Previously he'd only read the first part, Of Man, but now he was continuing and he could understand why it had appealed to his companion.

"_Jack and Jill went up the hill…_" Scarecrow muttered.

"Distracted in opinions concerning the best use and application of their strength, they do not help, but hinder one another," Jervis recited carefully before placing his bookmark. He looked over to see Jonathan glaring at him.

"What happened?"

"Now, now," Jervis admonished him gently. "No need to be rude." Jonathan continued to stare and Jervis realised it was no good reasoning with him. "You were knocked out by the Bat," he replied.

Jonathan's eyes narrowed sharply before darting about the room they were currently occupying. Jervis glanced about as well. He'd be the first to confess they weren't the most refined of surroundings… but they were at least dry and sheltered… and considering the haste with which they'd fled it wasn't half bad. He knew Jonathan wouldn't appreciate the difficulty he'd been through… even though the difficulty had primarily been his unconscious form. Sure enough, Jonathan's tone was not happy as he asked,

"Where am I?" Jervis sighed.

"_Temporarily_… we're in a warehouse on the docks."

"It's derelict."

"It's better than the alternative," Jervis retorted but Jonathan was no longer listening.

"How is it I'm not in Arkham? I remember being in Arkham." Jervis sighed again. Almost anyone else would be relived or grateful to find themselves free… but not Jonathan.

"After taking us down, the Bat went after Joker. Gordon was busy with Two-Face and the other inmates so we were able to sneak you out." Jonathan's eyes locked on Jervis'.

"We?"

"The Bat threw you into me and Ivy. She helped me get you out."

"_Her?_ Poison Ivy? What did you promise her?" Jervis frowned in annoyance. Why couldn't Jonathan simply be grateful?

"I didn't promise her anything…"

"Mind control?"

"**No.** I simply asked her nicely."

"Ivy wouldn't do anything for people out of the goodness of her heart. Especially not a man."

"People can surprise you sometimes."

"No!" Jonathan stood and started to pace. "_They mustn't surprise you!_" Jervis saw perspiration beginning to bead on his forehead.

"You should rest…"

"No!" Jonathan repeated, obviously agitated. "What about the others?"

"Others?"

"You said the Bat went after Joker…"

"Oh! Yes. He caught _him_… Harley was still trussed up where the Bat _and_ her 'Mistah J' had left her. Croc was still out cold from the electric shock… Riddler had snuck out _before_ all the fun started…"

"**Before**? I knew he was a slithy tove." Jervis grinned at the reference as Jonathan rubbed his forehead in irritation.

"Who else? Oh, yes. Wesker was with us but wouldn't leave Scarface who was insisting to be taken to the infirmary… Two-Face was cornered by Gordon and Gotham's finest… and then of course there was Ivy."

"Where's she now?" He looked about as though he expected her to pop up out of the floorboards.

"She wouldn't stay for tea. I think she was missing her plants."

"_Polly put the kettle on…Sukey take it off again._" Jervis looked concerned.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine!" Jonathan snapped. Jervis watched as the tall man continued to pace agitatedly. He'd checked him over for broken bones and the like but he was beginning to suspect the blow to his head had done more damage than he'd guessed.

That or Jonathan was suffering withdrawal symptoms from his medication.

"We're perfectly safe here," Jervis spoke gently. "We can rest and plan…"

"_No!_" Scarecrow interrupted again. "No! It's **not** safe! We're never safe!" Jervis felt a familiar twinge of pity. In unguarded moments Jonathan often revealed a deep rooted fear that Jervis worried would never leave him. "I have to be ready," Jonathan continued. "They can't catch me off guard… it's that damn accursed book again!"

He balled his hands into fists and held them against the sides of his head as though fighting something inside.

"What book?" Scarecrow answered him in a rushed voice, almost tripping over his own words.

"_He would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that cause more perplexity to mortal men then ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was – __**a woman.**_" Jervis frowned.

"Do you mean Ivy?" Jonathan said nothing but pressed his fists in circles on either side of his head. Jervis carried on. "Now, Jonathan. She was really very nice. She even said she liked scarecrows because they keep the birds away from the plants."

"No!" Jonathan declared again. "_Speak roughly to your little boy, and beat him when he sneezes!_" Jervis didn't grin at the Carroll quote this time. "She knows we're here… I have to go…"

"Jonathan. You can't leave in your condition…" but it was too late. Jonathan had bolted out the door.

Jervis considered following but in his current state of mind Jonathan would be unlikely to react well. He sighed and got up to close the door after his departing companion. He only hoped the Scarecrow evaded capture long enough for Jonathan to come to his senses. In the morning he'd track him down again.

As he stood in the doorway, still poised to close it, he stood for a moment looking into the darkness.

"I will read, and you shall listen: and so we will pass away this terrible night together." With a final sigh he pulled closed the door.

* * *

Jervis quotes from 'Leviathan' and 'Fall of the 'House of Usher', while Jonathan quotes nursery rhymes and 'Legend of Sleepy Hollow'.


	27. Through The Looking Glass

Like all Arkham escapees, Jervis kept up with the news. He was disappointed to see Jonathan had been recaptured during the night. In mounting anger he listened to the reporter describing the terrible threat Jonathan had posed last night and how the heroic Batman had bravely fought to take him down. Jervis scowled.

Jonathan had posed no threat to anyone last night. The man could barely stand properly! He'd been rambling and almost incoherent. The Bat-brat could have taken him out single handed. It was no wonder that none of them could seriously go straight when faced with such unashamed bias.

The next article caught him off guard though. The news reader was referring to Ivy, or rather Pamela Isley, as having been 'released'. Jervis frowned. He'd escaped _with_ her. She most certainly hadn't been 'released'. Leaning towards the screen he listened as the reporter described how her doctor had come forward to insist that if it hadn't been for the break-out she would have been freed today. Obviously she'd merely been caught up in events larger than herself and she had in fact sought sanctuary with him. He pleaded her case with Dr Arkham who'd reluctantly agreed that, so long as she was kept under constant surveillance, she could remain at liberty while the remainder of her paperwork was sorted.

Jervis didn't miss the look Ivy's doctor sent towards her and he envied her her natural mind control abilities. Almost impossible to detect but dangerously effective.

He toyed with the idea of some form of widespread mind control. Maybe a town or small city, but someplace where people like them could safely lead normal lives. Undisturbed. Perhaps nipping out to neighbouring towns when funds ran low. He stopped short as a thought struck him and a Cheshire cat grin spread across his face. It'd be just like Arkham, though maybe without the shackles and guards.

His smile faded as he rose to go make a cup of tea. That would be fine and dandy for inmates like himself, or indeed Ivy. He knew he'd be perfectly happy left alone on his own desert island but what about the others? Could he seriously imagine Joker settling down to a peaceful life? The idea was ludicrous… whatever Harley hoped for… it was never going to happen. And Two-Face? What chance did he have of any sort of normal life? Even Jonathan. The man just had too many issues to lead a normal life.

He waited as the tea steeped. What of the others? Killer Croc had made some attempt to escape his life of crime, he recalled. Joined a circus of misfits. If Croc could feasibly lead a normal life, surely anyone could? But then again… the attempt had failed. Was that because they were 'insane'? As Jonathan had told him, they saw things as they truly were. Did that mean they could never fit in to society ever again? Couldn't adjust?

He was aware that on the outside Oswald Cobblepot, Penguin, had taken steps towards living a respectable life, even spending time in elite circles before being turned upon. Technically though Penguin wasn't insane. Criminal, yes, but not insane. He'd never been incarcerated in Arkham. All the inmates had had dealings with the bird. He was the one who got… difficult… items for you, but Riddler had spent considerable time with him before his initial incarceration.

They'd discussed all this one day in the common room when Jonathan had been indisposed. Jervis actually quite liked Edward, even if he could be a trifle smug sometimes. Edward was keen that the world should recognise his genius and he often spoke of his plans to go back into business. However following his experience with Competitron he realised he needed to learn more about the intricacies of business before doing so. Hence he'd spent considerable time with Cobblepot and they'd become good friends.

Jervis wondered if Edward could truly give up the game with Batman to lead a respectable life. Though if Batman were removed from the equation it simplified things for everyone.

He carried his tea back to he other room and sank back into the comfortable chair. Personally he had little interest in the Bat except for how he spoilt his plans. He still couldn't comprehend why the Jabberwock had felt it necessary to interfere between himself and Alice. What did it matter to the Bat who he dated? Jonathan was clearly right about that. The Bat was merely an overgrown bully. But the others often focused all their efforts on targeting him. Joker's antics were usually no more than attempts to get the vigilante's attention. Riddler of course wanted to prove his intellectual superiority. Even Jonathan wanted to show he had no fear of the Bat… though Jervis knew that Scarecrow actually did fear him.

But maybe the others… he glanced back at the television where a documentary on Poison Ivy had begun… maybe they could escape his notice. Ivy cared for plants. It didn't matter to her what Batman did so long as he left her alone.

But would the self appointed 'Protector of Gotham' ever leave them alone? Jervis knew that even when they hadn't done anything wrong he'd turn up just to warn them that if they _did_ he'd be watching. With that kind of scepticism was it any wonder none of them managed to reform? The doctors would do better if they locked up Batman before focusing their energy on helping their current inmates.

Jervis sighed. He was not violent but he had to conclude that everyone would indeed be better off without the Bat. When Jonathan returned they would have to discuss a possible plan of action.

At least Jonathan was safe in Arkham.


	28. The Rules Of Battle

Jonathan sat waiting in Dr. Leland's office. She was late. Not that he really cared one way or the other but it was quite boring. He watched his guard out of the corner of his eye. The man seemed quite nervous though Jonathan wasn't sure why.

'_Surely it's only natural in the presence of the Scarecrow?'_ his alter ego prodded silently.

'But we haven't done anything to alarm him,' Professor Crane reasoned mentally, 'and they don't usually show us such respect.' Both personalities stared reproachfully at the guard.

In fact this was his first day out of solitary. His gaze shifted onto his hands as the disturbed memories surfaced again. They hadn't been that bad in a long time. Now, in the warm light and sunny space of the doctor's office, he could rationalise it. In fact the doctor in him had already started to psychoanalyse what he'd endured since his escape.

Of course, since they'd incapacitated their doctors, they hadn't had their usual medication, and all drugs had their own withdrawal symptoms. But all the inmates were used to that. It was something you got used to when you broke out often enough. Jonathan had had added problems this time though. Thinking back now, he realised he'd probably suffered a concussion. Not that uncommon either.

More uncommon was the… interference… from that woman. His whole body twitched at the memory. He would have suffered help from the Hatter… begrudgingly true but still. He wondered momentarily why he'd even accept help from him, then decided that after the trial fiasco he wouldn't make _that_ mistake again.

The fool had put him in the power of that… that plant-witch! Who knows what favour she'd want in return for aiding in their escape. Didn't the idiot realise the danger they posed?

"_No,_" hissed Scarecrow reminding Jonathan of Hatter's major flaw. He scowled just as the guard shifted so his weapon arm was free. Jonathan switched his attention back to his companion. They weren't normally so jumpy. Perhaps he'd been one of the guards caught up in their trial?

"That which purifies us is trial, and trial is by what is contrary," Jonathan commented. The guard didn't seem reassured but Jonathan's mind had already moved on. Contrary… contrariwise… Carroll… Hatter… Ivy. He scowled once more.

"One should never trust a woman…" At that moment his doctor hurried in.

"Sorry I'm late Jonathan," she apologised as she organised herself behind the desk. He watched as she endeavoured to maintain her calm façade. Unfortunately Jonathan was skilled in the nuances of fear. She may have looked completely as normal to the guard but to Jonathan she may as well have been cowering. He frowned.

"Is something wrong?" he demanded irritably. She looked up, startled at his tone, and quickly composed her face into its traditional concerned look.

"Nothing to worry about," she smiled. He glanced to where her fingers were playing with the edges of her paperwork. Following his gaze she abruptly stopped. "I'm just… a little rushed today. We have a new head of security."

Jonathan said nothing, analysing the evidence before him. His doctor was clearly afraid. This didn't bother him much. Ordinarily he'd find it interesting even. What concerned him was that it was not him… or even an exploitable phobia… that had her nervous. He had a challenger.

"And why should a new head of security make you nervous?" he enquired.

"I didn't say he made me nervous. I said I was rushed. It's a lot of work introducing a new member of staff to Arkham." He narrowed his eyes dangerously.

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying."

"You're hiding the truth." She said nothing to this but carefully wrote a note on her sheet. Jonathan was not prepared to let the subject drop however. He did not like either the fact she was apparently more concerned about the new security guard nor the fact she was lying to him.

"_There is no other purgatory but a woman._" She looked up again.

"You said that at our first session." He smiled smugly.

"You've proved my point." His voice rose to mimic her, "I feel that if we can build a healthy doctor/patient relationship, it'll go a long way to showing that not all women are bad." She met his challenging gaze across the desk.

"I have **not** lied to you Jonathan."

"But our new head of security _does_ bother you. Has he been making inappropriate suggestions, perhaps? Or maybe it's more subtle."

"Mr Bolton has been perfectly well mannered." Jonathan watched her eyes. He realised she was using technicalities to avoid something. There was an almost haunted look in her eyes. She looked away, troubled.

"I suppose I should explain the terms of Mr Bolton's appointment." Jonathan raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Doctors didn't usually discuss such things with patients… but perhaps this was her way of explaining herself to him?

"After Mr Tetch's last escapade… several important people were upset. The mayor particularly doesn't like the idea that this institution has a 'revolving door' policy." The tone of her voice suggested that she thought the mayor didn't have a clue. "So," she looked back to Jonathan with her official face firmly in place, "with help from the Wayne Foundation they've spent more on security and hired Mr Bolton."

"Money wasted," he commented.

"Mr Bolton has been given greater powers to use in security as he sees fit." Again Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "And I would suggest you do **not** push him to use them." He gave a bored shrug. "Jonathan," her tone caught his attention again and he met her intense gaze. "Mr Bolton has dispensation from the mayor to use _any means necessary_ to ensure there are no more breakouts." Their eyes locked again across her desk and Jonathan realised with a shock that the fear he'd seen in her eyes was not for herself, but for her patients. Specifically now, for _him_. He looked away, troubled.

* * *

I want to thank everyone who's waited so long for this update and stuck with me so far. I've got no good excuse for the delay other than chronic fatigue and a bit of a mental block.

Especial thanks go to Jenni Lynn for not losing faith in me and for encouraging me to go ahead and post this.


	29. So Many Lessons To Learn

Dr Leland was not happy. The asylum had been running smoothly. There'd been no breakouts and, even more amazingly, no fights, arguments, cat calling or disruptions of any kind. In fact it was unusually quiet. Which was precisely why she was unhappy.

To her mind, the patients were akin to children… and she treated them in much the same way, by trying to guide them and help them learn, while all the while keeping a wary eye on them. Jean Piaget had spent his life researching children's behaviour and Joan found that some of his findings applied in equal measure to the inmates. Specifically at the moment, she was considering Piaget's identification of egocentric type speech. He'd split this into three types: Repetition, Monologue and Collective Monologue.

Repetition was perhaps the most common speech pattern for stereotypical madmen. Those inmates who rambled nonsense simply because they liked the sound of it. Joan was too highly qualified for that type of insanity. The monologue type of speech was what even a layman would identify with her patients. The almost unconscious dictation of their thoughts and actions. People often wondered why the villains always explained their fiendish plan. Dr Leland easily understood. It was because, like small children, they had no verbal continence. There was simply no rational voice in their heads to stop them from speaking. Though, like children, they were capable of learning… which was why they often fell silent in their sessions.

They had no great wish of privacy… and absolutely no desire to hold silent out of respect of another's views… but they could be wilfully stubborn. The trick was often to remember that they believed themselves to be the centre of the universe. Everything and everyone else was secondary to them. Still, even experienced doctors like herself had difficulty persuading them to talk in such forced conditions.

Which was why the third type of speech was often the most illuminating – the collective monologue. When they were apparently talking together, yet weren't actually taking any notice of what the others were saying. Either around lights out, or in the common room, or over meal times, the inmates would continually chatter. Completely unrestrained, open and honest, though without any kind of ability to put themselves in another's place. It was in these situations that the doctors would often notice new facets to their patients. Signs of deep rooted psychosis that they could later probe. It was why they took turns monitoring the inmates overnight, at dinner, or in their free time. Because it often improved their understanding.

But not anymore. The inmates barely whispered to one another. There was none of the usual calling out between cells… none of the banter common in the common room… not even a food fight which had been almost a regularity. And it was obvious who was to blame: Bolton.

Though, Dr Leland sighed, how could she use the term 'blame' when he was in fact doing exactly what he'd been brought in to do? The mayor was happy, the general population was happy, and presumably the Batman was happy. How important by comparison was her own disappointment? It was only a perk she'd lost. It wasn't as if he'd actually done anything _bad_.

She frowned as the memo on her desk caught her eye. There was a nagging worry that she hadn't been able to shake since his appointment. He'd been given special dispensation to use any means necessary to maintain security. That in itself didn't worry her so much as the way he'd smiled when it'd been mentioned. There was nothing concrete she could explain but you didn't get to be one of the top doctors in Arkham without picking up a few skills in judging people. She couldn't shake the feeling she got whenever she spoke to him. It was the same feeling she had when she spoke to some of the more violent inmates.

Carefully she picked up the memo again, though she'd already read it several times.

TO: Dr Leland  
FROM: Mr Bolton  
SUBJECT: Scarecrow  
Scarecrow won't be at your next 2 sessions since he'll be in solitary. He was caught over breakfast attempting to use his "fear powers" on Harley Quinn.

She put the note down and stared out the window. She'd actually been the duty doctor this morning. She'd seen Jonathan sit next to Harley. She remembered because she'd been pleased to see him sit with a woman… something she was patiently trying to encourage him to do. Harley was actually one of the few women Jonathan _didn't _regularly insult. In fact, all the inmates seemed to view her as their own mascot and she was generally treated pretty well… except by Joker of course.

And she'd seen Jonathan speak quietly to her. Harley had been looking unusually forlorn… probably because Joker was currently elsewhere in Gotham… and whatever Jonathan had said had appeared to cheer her up. To Joan's perception at least. However Mr Bolton had been walking past behind them and all but leapt on Jonathan, claiming he was trying to incite a riot. Having not heard what he'd been saying, Dr Leland could hardly claim otherwise, but she'd felt something was wrong.

She half considered going to the solitary wing to speak to Jonathan. To ask what he had said this morning. But she'd need permission form Dr Arkham (if _anyone_ was allowed to talk to prisoners in solitary it'd hardly be solitary) and how could she explain that she thought Jonathan might be innocent?

But then there were the rumours. The half overheard conversations of the guards that put Joan on edge.

"_No more than they deserve_," was a phrase she kept overhearing recently but the guards merely told her they'd been discussing what they'd _like_ to do. It seemed they were using the patient's knowledge of Mr Bolton's 'special dispensation' to threaten them with more extreme punishments… though they'd never actually carry them out of course. She'd reprimanded their attitude but they only replied that at least it _worked._ She'd been unable to deny that but it still nagged at her. She was convinced there were things happening that she was unaware of. There was a change in the atmosphere. It reminded her of how Jonathan always told her he could sense fear in the air.

She resolved to discuss it with him at their next session. Perhaps, if he felt she was on his side against Bolton, they might make a break through in his treatment. Buoyed by this thought, she gathered her things and left for the night. After all, at least nothing more could happen to Jonathan while he was in solitary.


	30. The Horror Of That Moment

Scarecrow screamed as Jonathan forced his shoulder back into it's socket. Luckily he'd timed it to coincide with a loud thunder clap so no-one should have heard.

"_It's raining, it's pouring_," Scarecrow muttered bitterly.

"I know, I know," Jonathan wasn't really paying much attention to his alter ego. He had more important things to worry about than getting wet.

"_He went to bed and bumped his head_," commented Scarecrow. Jonathan shivered and pulled himself further under the bridge. He couldn't stay here but he needed time to think. He needed somewhere safe to hide.

"_Hark, hark, the dogs do bark_."

"At least we agree on something." He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead in an attempt to straighten his thoughts out. Despite his best efforts though they skittered away from him.

"_O dear, what can the matter be_," Scarecrow's sing-song voice interrupted him again. Jonathan twitched as the lyric brought back a rather recent memory.

Solitary was usually a silent place with no-one for company but your own thoughts. Jonathan had frequently mused whether it didn't in fact reinforce people's solipsism… focusing them in on themselves and cutting them away more securely from the possibility of anyone else existing.

It was certainly never a pleasant place, but Bolton had added his own unique touches. The heavy duty restraints, almost constant darkness and minimal food (if it could even be called that) were mere formalities to his more… interesting punishments.

Of course, Jonathan was well familiar with forms of fear. The rumours were a standard way of heightening the inmates innate paranoia without having to lift a finger. He hadn't been unduly bothered by the wild imaginings of the other rogues. So he'd been quite unprepared for his own special treatment.

It wasn't the new restraints that unnerved him. Being chained down except for brief periods when food was shoved in was not a particular hardship. It was the _voices_ that got to him first.

At first it merely aroused his curiosity but though he listened intently, he couldn't understand what they were saying. It was nothing but a low murmur…

"_It is the beating of his hideous heart_,"

so he ignored it and attempted to keep track of time by monitoring the regularity of the meal times. But slowly it began to irritate him, as a dripping tap he couldn't stop. And his mind became like the imp of the perverse and worked itself trying to figure out what they might be saying. It seemed logical they would be talking about him… after all, who else was there? And equally logically, it was likely derogatory… why else would they speak so quietly?

He tried yelling to shut them up, then yelling to drown them out. But he couldn't scream indefinitely and the voices remained. He had no idea how long he ultimately lay mutely listening to them. There was no time in solitary. No daylight or clocks, only gruel through the door every 6 hours. He didn't even know if it was midday or midnight as he ate.

Gradually he drifted into slumber, only to be startled by a cackling laugh. His eyes snapped open and he let out a scream as they fell upon the apparition that had now appeared. A towering figure of hellfire red… with no head! It let out another laugh and raised it's arm that Jonathan now perceived was holding a glowing red skull,

"_As to assume the type of the Red Death!"_

Jonathan tried to scramble away but his restraints were tightly binding him down to his bed and all he could do was scream and close his eyes as the flaming orb tumbled towards him.

It took a long while for him to risk opening his eyes but when he did the vision was gone. Anger surged into him as he realised the trick, even as he trembled, but it was immediately dispelled by the deep laughter that echoed through the chamber. With a whimper he closed his eyes again and prayed for the nightmare to end.

He must have fallen asleep again because he awoke to silence. Whether it was the silence that woke him or not, it didn't last long. The voices were back. Only now they were familiar and audible. He recognised Harley and Ivy, as well as Dr Leland, all talking about him. He flushed with anger and embarrassment at their ridicule and tried to rationalise it as no more real than the headless vision of before. But part of his mind insisted that _this_ was true. This was what they _really_ thought of him.

In time, other voices joined the first few. He tried to ignore them but they were insidious. Eventually he lay humming to himself with his hands over his ears until the food slot opened and a bowl slid in.

The voices had apparently stopped and he was about to down what might have been breakfast, lunch, tea, or dinner, when the thought occurred to him,

'If they were hallucinations, perhaps the cause is in the food?' With a protesting grumble of his stomach he put the bowl down and slid back to his bed. He listened as the restraints wound back like seat belts into the walls, ready to be pulled tight at a moment's notice.

'I wonder…' he began to think before a crack like a gun shot rang out. He screamed and jumped, looking wildly about for the source. Nothing could be seen in the sudden darkness of his cell but he could hear the scurrying sound of small creatures… and felt a rhythmic draft… and a faint swish noise…

"_The rushing oscillations of the steel!_"

He suddenly began struggling against his bonds in earnest. He had to get out of here! He had to escape! Frantically he pulled at the shackles but they were tight against him and he only succeeded in burning his wrists. As tears of fatigue, fear and frustration began to well up in his eyes, a different voice interrupted him,

"_O dear, what can the matter be?_"

Jonathan hesitated only a moment. He didn't like admitting weakness to Scarecrow because he'd _never_ let him forget it. But he desperately needed to escape. Swiftly taking control, Scarecrow grasped the left shackle firmly and gritted his teeth. Jonathan screamed as his hand was ripped through the restraint. He could feel blood beginning to seep down his wrist from where the skin had been torn. Scarecrow didn't hesitate in holding the bleeding hand over the right shackle to lubricate it. Jonathan was only vaguely aware of the possible breaks and dislocation within his left hand before Scarecrow wrenched the right one free. Jonathan only whimpered this time. The blood had made it easier but his hand would still need treatment.

Sitting listening by the cell door, he waited 'til they heard the outer corridor door slam, then together they pulled the restraints fully out of the wall and sat by the food slot. As soon as it opened Scarecrow shot his hand through, grabbed the guard's hand and forced the restraint on as far as it would go, disregarding impediments like skin and bone.

They heard his yell and frantic scrabbling but ignored it as they reached through to his belt. He was armed with a taser. Scarecrow twisted the dial as high as it would go and shocked him. He promptly collapsed senseless. Scarecrow didn't waste any time in searching him for the key to their cell. The doors in Arkham were all old fashioned with locks half way up so a man with long limbs could just about reach if he was prepared to dislocate his arm to do it.

Once the door swung open, he didn't hesitate except to take the keys and fled.


	31. Wrong From Beginning To End

Jervis was feeling unusually frustrated. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but things seemed to be all wrong recently. Of course he had just spent a week planning his latest heist only to be pre-empted by some humpty dumpty calling himself Bane. Without Croc's assistance all his careful planning was pointless.

He wondered whether they shouldn't form some sort of villain's counsel… or at least swap contact details… maybe arrange for some sort of rota to be kept at the Iceberg… so they could at least let each other know 'I'll be hitting such-and-such Friday. Bats should be dead by Saturday.' It'd just be highly embarrassing if two of them turned up to rob the same place. Though it wouldn't be the first time _that_ had happened.

Harley and Ivy met that way. And if it were properly planned it might work to advantage… he wondered suddenly whether his own mind control devices would protect their victims from Jonathan's fear toxin? Then they'd have minions capable of walking unharmed through a deadly cloud straight to the vaults…

He shook his head. No use pondering that. It didn't help him right now and the idea of explaining the sense in his organisational plan to Joker was preposterous. What he needed right now was a decent cup of tea… and one of his tweedles had just broken his china teapot! He frowned again as he continued making his way through the dark and damp streets. Luckily it had stopped raining and luckily he knew where there was a spare teapot.

He stopped short as he stepped inside the warehouse he and Jonathan had temporarily holed up in. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he sensed another presence. A quiver of fear ran through him… yet he recognised the sensation as familiar.

"Jonathan?" he queried. A shadow shifted in a far corner. Jervis wasted no time in bounding over. "Jonathan!" he exclaimed happily before once again stopping short. "Jonathan, whatever happened? You look… pale," he finished lamely. In fact Jonathan looked scared rigid. The taller man's eyes flashed feverishly up at him.

"Go ahead. Say it! I look scared, frightened, afraid, petrified, terrified, panicked…"

"You certainly look wet through. No wonder you're shivering," Jervis fussed, taking off his overcoat and draping it over Jonathan's shoulders. Jonathan's rant stopped but he continued to look sullen.

"This is your cue to laugh," he muttered venomously. "The great Scarecrow… a shivering mess…"

"What's happened to your hands?" Jervis asked suddenly in alarm. Jonathan glanced up in surprise then looked back to his hands which were still covered in blood.

"I…" he seemed at a loss so Jervis took control.

"Come on. We have to get you cleaned up and dry." Jonathan allowed Jervis to guide him upright and lead him across the warehouse to the deserted kitchen area. He stood silent while Jervis rummaged about, eventually turning up an old first aid kit. It was something every business had to have but was almost always forgotten when they left. Except by the Rogues.

Jervis proceeded to run the tap until the water ran clear and then filled a bowl. Turning back to the other man he seemed surprised to see him still stood in the doorway.

"Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to stay in the same place," Jervis spoke severely to him. Jonathan meekly moved to sit at the table but flinched when Jervis firmly took hold of his hands. Calm again, Jervis examined them closely.

"Hhm… the right one only has minor abrasions… but the left…" He tutted and began to rinse the dirt and grime away. Neither spoke while he applied some cream and then tied his handkerchief round the worst of the damage on the left hand.

"Now," he declared as he rose to empty the bowl. "Are there any other injuries I should know about?" Jonathan continued to stare at the table and mutely shook his head. Jervis watched him. His initial terror had ebbed away and now he just seemed incredibly vulnerable. It reminded Jervis of the few times in Arkham he'd glimpsed behind Jonathan's smug façade to the scared boy within.

"OK," he murmured, running a hand through his hair distractedly. "I'm going to put the kettle on." Jonathan did nothing while Jervis bustled round digging out the old teapot and mugs left by long forgotten workers. What was going through Jonathan's head, Jervis had no idea, but he suspected he'd need to reassure the man that he was **not** about to mock him.

"Brave men are all vertebrates; they have their softness on the surface and their toughness in the middle." Jonathan looked up with a frown at Jervis' quote but Jervis was completely unperturbed. "Do you want to tell me how that happened?" he gestured towards the bandaged hand. Jonathan stared at it a long time before replying.

"A succession of loud and shrill screams, bursting suddenly from the throat of the chained form, seemed to thrust me violently back. For a brief moment I hesitated – I trembled."

"Chained form?" Jervis wondered.

"The tortures endured, however, were indubitably quite equal, for the time, to those of actual sepulture. They were fearfully – they were inconceivably hideous," Jonathan leant forward with an aggressive snarl and Jervis realised he had to be careful of aggravating him further. Obviously he'd been through something that he was ashamed to admit had scared him frightfully. Jervis thought quickly.

"Some human memories and tearful lore, render him terrorless: his name's 'No More'."

"Other friends have flown before – on the morrow he will leave me as my Hopes have flown before."

"I will read, and you shall listen: and so we will pass away this terrible night together." Jonathan stared at him blankly but he seemed more himself.

"I have escaped…" he began hesitatingly. Slowly he began to rock back and forth. "I have escaped the island of the fay… the island of… the island… island…" Jervis hurried over as Jonathan's rocking grew more violent. Firmly grasping the other man and holding him still, he recited almost unconsciously,

"Hush-a-by lady, in Alice's lap!  
Till the feast's ready, we've time for a nap:  
When the feast's over, we'll go to the ball --  
Red Queen, and White Queen, and Alice, and all!"

All the while his mind was fixated on Jonathan's repeated phrase 'the island'. Something was niggling at the back of his mind but his thoughts refused to lock on it.

"Sukey take it off again," Jonathan muttered suddenly. Jervis realised with a start that the kettle had now boiled and he hurried over to prepare the tea. As he warmed the teapot, his mind once again worried over Jonathan's choice of phrase.

Wasn't there a new security chief at Arkham? Summer Gleeson had reported it… what was his name?

"Of course!" he suddenly remembered. "Lyle Bolton… and Lyle means 'island' which is why…" he turned to find Jonathan's chair falling to the floor. "Oh!"

He stood silent in the empty kitchen evaluating everything that had happened. Jonathan had clearly been put through an ordeal at the hands of this new security guard. While he was out… all well and good… but Jervis couldn't in good conscience let this blatant torture go unnoticed. All too often they were treated unfairly for their supposed crimes but this went too far! With a frown, Jervis decided he would do something to put things right.


	32. The Lion And The Unicorn

Bruce Wayne sat at his rich mahogany desk and frowned at the note before him. It was not handwritten, nor was there any signature, yet he was sure he knew who it was from. Without a doubt he could take it to the Batcave to confirm his suspicions… yet he didn't. He wondered briefly why and concluded it was because the missive was addressed to him as Bruce Wayne. The person who'd sent it had obviously felt the situation called for his intervention rather than the Batman's.

Yet he _was_ the Batman. And as the Batman his suspicions had _already_ been aroused. His eyes scanned the books that lined the walls of his study as he remembered the events of the other night. He hadn't been looking for Scarecrow exactly, though he was of course aware that he'd broken out of Arkham… the first inmate to do so since the new head of security had been appointed… but it was a quiet night and he'd opted to investigate the break-in at the library. Usually he'd have been far too busy with any number of insane schemes to hold the city to ransom but there hadn't been any sign of his Rogues gallery for weeks. He'd even been able to leave the city on a rescue mission to England. At the time he'd been grateful, but afterwards he'd begun to think it was odd. That didn't stop him from patrolling the city… though he had been reduced to stopping petty crimes. It was worrying how many small-time thieves believed they were safe from him because he only dealt with those 'famous crooks'. It'd actually felt good to re-establish his reputation amongst the hoodlums. Remind them that the Batman could strike any one of them.

So he'd been feeling pretty confident when he'd seen the broken window and open door of Gotham library. He'd glided in expecting to find some misguided youth robbing the till or forcing the night safe… perhaps even hoping to deter him from a life of crime. He'd been somewhat surprised to find both locations empty. Thinking perhaps he was too late, he almost left, planning to report the break-in for the police to investigate in the morning, but he heard a page rustle.

Following the susurration between the shelves, he found a familiar figure thumbing through the pages of a book and whispering to himself.

"He knew that his response was irrational. The prickly sensation along the back of his neck and the iciness in his gut were symptoms of a purely superstitious terror. But the civilised and educated…"

"Scarecrow!" The shadowy figure dropped his book and quickly backed away but he continued to recite the passage.

"…turned over the reins to the frightened child-savage that lives in every human being…"

"What are you up to?" Professor Crane rose his hands protectively in front of him and his voice rose an octave as he babbled.

"…and he could not easily regain control even though he was aware of the absurdity of his behaviour."

Batman noticed something held in Scarecrow's left hand and drew out his Batrope.

"Drop it Scarecrow! What is it you're holding? Chloroform… fear toxin… fuse…" Jonathan glanced at his hands as though he'd forgotten what was there, yet even now he couldn't stop speaking.

"Brute instinct ruled," his frightened eyes met the Batman's before he turned and fled. "And instinct told him that he must run, run," he almost sang now, "stop thinking and just run." Batman gave chase, hurling his Bat-line, and coiling it round Scarecrow's outstretched arm. The man screamed as the line grew taut and wrenched him back by the arm. Batman ignored him and swiftly approached, not allowing any time for his adversary to recover. In moments he had him firmly secured with the Batcuffs and only then did he investigate whatever it was Scarecrow had sought to conceal. To his surprise he found it was nothing but a blood soaked handkerchief.

"No!" Jonathan screamed as Batman hauled him back upright. "No! I won't go back! You can't take me back!"

"Save your breath Scarecrow," he advised as he dragged the reluctant professor out to the Batmobile.

"But I haven't done anything this time!" he protested.

"Apart from escaping Arkham and breaking into the library you mean?"

"But I wasn't even planning anything! I just wanted to get away…" Batman shoved him into the vehicle and slammed the door. He quickly signalled Robin to return so they could head back to Arkham and waited. Inside the car Jonathan beat repeatedly on the window. Batman turned and glared at him 'til he sat back mutely. He remained frozen all the way to Arkham but panicked on seeing the building again. Unusually, he began to beg. Batman was used to threats and claims of superiority but outright begging unnerved him. And the sheer desperation…

He shook the memory away and focussed again on the letter.

GOtham Estates  
_GOtham CIty  
__NY 10024_

_15__th__ September 1995_

_Dear Bruce Wayne,_

_WhIch fOrm Of prOverb dO yOu prefer? Better Late than never, Or Better Never than Late? FOr my part I prefer the fOrmer. I wrIte tO yOu tO aLert yOu tO a grave InJustIce wIthIn the waLLs of yOur kIngdOm. "that way madness LIes." The hOme Of the mad peOpLe, and the prevaILIng feature Of the dIsease Is the IsLand Of the Fay. PLease read carefuLLy! I have prOved by actuaL trIaL that a Letter, that takes an hOur tO wrIte, takes OnLy 3 mInutes tO read!_

_I'm abOut as happy as KIng CharLes the FIrst when he was In prIsOn thInkIng Of the InfInIte punIshment fOr fInIte sIn. In sOme ways, yOu knOw, peOple that dOn't exIst, are much nIcer than peOpLe that dO. As the fIrst wItness, I ask yOu tO cOnsider yOur verdIct… and surely yOu'LL see the guards are OnLy a pack Of cards, after aLL. TaLk LIke a reasOnabLe chILd. If yOu want tO InspIre cOnfIdence, gIve pLenty Of statIstIcs. It dOes nOt matter that they shOuLd be accurate, Or even InteLLIgIbLe, as LOng as there Is enOugh Of them._

_Stand nOt awhILe In thought, but seek the manxOme fOx. One Of the secrets Of LIfe Is that aLL that Is really wOrth the dOIng Is what we dO fOr Others. What I teLL yOu three tImes Is true._

_It's gettIng as dark as It can… and darker… It was gettIng dark sO suddenLy._

_WhO In the wOrLd am I?  
__Ah, that's the great puzzLe._

_And has cOme past the stars Of the LIOn tO pOInt us the path tO the skIes – tO Lethean peace Of the skIes – cOme up, In despIte Of the LIOn, tO shIne On us wIth her brIght eyes – cOme up thrOugh the LaIr Of the LIOn wIth LOve In her LumInOus eyes._

Wayne dropped the letter, sighed and rubbed his eyes. Who in the world am I? Only one person would have written him such a letter… the Mad Hatter… the question Batman wanted to answer was… why? And why that postscript? It wasn't a Carroll reference like the majority of his bizarre letter… it was Poe… which was much more Scarecrow's line. Was Hatter trying to direct his thoughts towards Crane?

With a final glance at his strange missive, Wayne got up from his desk. The only way to answer these questions was to go to Arkham himself… Bruce Wayne. And what better reason could he have than to check up on his newest employee? He'd arrange a meeting with Mayor Hamilton Hill, Commissioner Gordon, and Dr. Bartholomew tomorrow. And perhaps he could also find out from Dr Bartholomew why the Mad Hatter might be taking an interest in Scarecrow.


	33. A Poor Sort Of Memory

Thanks to P'tfami for correcting the date error last chapter.

* * *

Jervis sat in his recently liberated car watching the river water flow by.

"In a Wonderland they lie, dreaming as the days go by, dreaming…" he was interrupted by the passenger door flying open and another figure getting in.

"As the summers die one by one, how soon they fly," his guest instructed. Jervis grinned widely.

"As you say Jonathan." He revved up the car and floored the accelerator. Then he began to sing again. "Ever drifting down the stream, lingering the golden gleam. Life, what is it but a dream?" At this last bit he grinned across at Jonathan. The other man gave him a faintly amused look but merely shook his head in reply. Jervis continued to hum as he returned them to his hideout.

He was in a chipper mood ever since his idea to liberate Arkham from it's manxome foe had succeeded so well. Three letters he'd written - What I tell you three times is true – one to Mr Wayne, who paid for the man… one to Dr Arkham, who hired the man… and one to Mayor Hill, who authorised it all. They'd duly met and Bolton was immediately suppressed by the officers of the court. Jervis grinned as he thought of the jailer slipped head-first into a large canvas bag and sat upon. This much had been on the news. Well, they hadn't shown the actual suppression but they'd reported it. And then Jervis had been thrilled to receive his own letter in turn. Delivered by a carrion crow it had merely consisted of the short instruction – 'meet tonight, by river'.

And so he found himself once again in his hideaway with his favourite tea-party companion. But what was a tea-party without tea? Jonathan watched from the doorway as Jervis carefully balanced cups and saucers on a tray.

"And you had no trouble getting out?" Jervis enquired, apparently continuing a conversation he'd started in his head. The taller man stretched languidly.

"Child's play without Fortunato there to interfere..." his eyes flickered across to Jervis' back. He'd been fairly out of it when he'd last seen Jervis and was acutely aware that he was somewhat in the other man's debt.

"That's nice," Jervis responded still fiddling with the tea things. "There's something I thought you'd be interested in in the other room." Jonathan gratefully left Jervis and wandered back into what Jervis would doubtless term 'the parlour'. On the table was an old book. Flopping down into an old chair he began to leaf through the pages. He was totally engrossed when the other man returned with the tea cups and Jervis had to sit in silence a long time before Jonathan finally looked up.

"Well?" the shorter man enquired. He was pleased to see Jonathan's customary superior expression was firmly back in place. Things were obviously back to normal now the King and Queen of Hearts had taken the head of the guard.

"Quite different to what I grew up with," Jonathan commented idly as he returned the nursery rhyme book to the table.

"Surely these are all traditional rhymes?" Jervis sat himself opposite.

"Perhaps," Jonathan steepled his fingers, "but in the stories my father read to me, Little Red Riding Hood was _not_ rescued by the Woodsman, the witch ate Hansel and Gretel, Goldilocks was mauled by the three bears…"

"But why ever would a parent read you such dreadful tales!" Jervis exclaimed.

"My father…" he hesitated and glanced across at Jervis. The other man was watching him with open curiosity. Jonathan looked back to his hands and noticed the faint scars he'd received from his desperate flight from solitary. "My father," he started again, "didn't want to coddle me. He didn't want me to believe in fairy tale endings. Not that I was ever likely to." He sniffed derisively. "My mother," he twitched involuntarily, "she wanted a strong son as well. As you can see they were both disappointed," he sneered. Jervis waited silently to see if he'd continue. Clearly something _had_ changed after the monstrous black crow had passed.

"My father was weak. He knew it and even as a child, I knew it. That's why he wanted me to be strong, either to avoid his fate or perhaps so I could save him from it," Jonathan looked thoughtful. "I can remember hearing him cry as my mother beat him. She beat me too," he added as an afterthought. "Whenever I disappointed her. Eventually my father snapped. Either he realised I wasn't going to bring him his happily ever after or he'd just had enough. Ha!" Jonathan laughed as a thought struck him. "Perhaps if he'd raised me on _your_ tales I'd have been more inclined to ride to his rescue."

"Anyway, he pulled a gun on my mother. I can remember seeing the shock on her face and something else too. _Fear_. For the first time I realised that even _she_ was at the mercy of fear. But," he laughed, "he couldn't do it. He couldn't pull the trigger. Fear," Jonathan shook his head. "My mother swung the saucepan at him. He dropped like a stone," he paused again. "To the police it was an easy case of self-defence. They even _sympathised_ with the abuse she'd suffered! Another lesson in the idiocy of authority. I stayed with her, and occasionally my grandmother," he shuddered unwittingly, "until I was old enough to leave. Then I never spoke to her again. I read about her later though," he mused. "She'd been admitted to an old people's home where the staff had abused her. The paper wrote about the poor, defenceless, family-less old lady. Ironic?" Jervis sat watching Jonathan.

"That's what I'm really scared of," he whispered. Jonathan looked across in surprised interest. "Ending my days alone and forgotten. Like those people you read about in the papers. They die alone and are only discovered when the neighbours notice the smell… months later." He waited for Jonathan's diagnosis but was surprised to feel a comforting pat on his shoulder. He looked up but Jonathan had already turned away.

As Jonathan left for the other room Jervis stared mutely into his teacup. He felt unusually sombre. An after effect of Jonathan's conversation no doubt. Jervis wondered whether Bolton's presence at the asylum had stirred up these childhood memories of Jonathan's? He'd spent so long trying to put himself beyond the reach of these threatening figures, maternal and social peers, only to be subjected once again at a place that should have represented safety to him.

Jervis didn't have any such repressed memories but he understood them well enough from frequent discussions with his doctor. Dr Bartholomew was convinced Jervis must have suffered some sort of traumatic event and often suggested hypnosis to help him recover the memory. Jervis valued his mind too much to allow _that_. But he also knew from the doctor that key triggers might bring such memories back. Sights and smells… or events of course. Ironically Jonathan's doctor had always held back from subjecting Jonathan to any of the treatments suggested by Jervis' own doctor. Jonathan had often spoken scathingly of her attempts to coax him into 'opening up' but she'd never encouraged him to undergo hypnosis or sensory stimuli. Jervis was amused by the fact that by simply befriending Jonathan, he'd gained his trust sufficiently for him to confide a little of his past, while the doctors were still completely in the dark.

With a happy laugh he rose to follow his companion into the main hideaway.


	34. To Live In Lookingglass House

With a savage growl Jonathan hurled his unfinished prototype across the room. It crashed into the wall and broke. As the pieces fell to the floor Jonathan ran a frustrated hand through his unkempt hair and slumped back at his work desk. Jervis licked his lips nervously.

"I was thinking…" he hesitated as Jonathan looked up in annoyance.

"Is it anything to do with these plans?" he demanded.

"It may – if it chooses." Jonathan sighed and crossed his arms. He was still trying to decide whether the benefits of sharing a hideout with the Mad Hatter outweighed the drawbacks. The primary drawback was Jervis' incessant need to _talk_. True, in Arkham, Jonathan had had no objection to this. After all he didn't have anything better to do. But now he was at liberty again, he had plans to make.

On the other hand, Jervis wasn't stupid. He'd been able to glance over Jonathan's preliminary plans and point out some possible problems that Jonathan hadn't considered. Plus, his mind-controlled minions were much more reliable than Jonathan's terrified henchmen.

And though he found it hard to admit, he had grown almost accustomed to having someone around to discuss ideas with.

"Have you ever considered…well… **not** unleashing some terrifying plan upon the populace?" Jervis grinned widely as he spoke. Jonathan stared at him as though he were mad. Which of course he technically was, but madder than usual.

"And what would you suggest I do instead?" he asked sarcastically. "Hand out bouquets of flowers?"

"Now you're being silly," Jervis scolded lightly. "I was only thinking how pleasant it is when we're not running for our lives from the Bat."

"Jervis. _Whatever_ we do, the Bat will hunt us down."

"Not necessarily. Consider. Riddler turned his skills into the business line… much as Penguin has done… and he had considerable success."

"Except," Jonathan put in, "he couldn't resist one last showdown with the Bat."

"Naturally, his own ego got in his way. _You_ wouldn't make that mistake," Jervis added slyly. Jonathan inclined his head in reluctant agreement. "And Ivy had settled down with a family not too long ago."

"Ha! She had to use her pheromones to subdue her husband and grew their children in the garden!"

"Still," Jervis huffed, "in her own way she was settled. I mean who was she hurting?" Jonathan folded his arms again grumpily. "Even Two-Face is taking steps to recover a normal life."

"Well the Bat's always had a soft spot for him," Jonathan muttered.

"Aren't you even curious?" Jervis demanded.

"Curious about what?" Jonathan threw back. Jervis threw up his hands.

"So tell me," he glared. "Once your new plan's proved a total success, and you've defeated the Bat, what will you do then?"

"Then? Well, I'll hold the city to ransom!"

"Yes, yes, naturally. But what will you do _then_?" Jervis persisted.

"Then? I'll be rich! No-one will ever be able to torment me ever again.!" Jervis leant his head to one side.

"Because you're rich?"

"Because I'll have proved I have no fear," Jonathan hissed. "No fear of the bullies, no fear of the small-minded professors and certainly no fear of the Bat."

"So you'll have made a statement to the world that no-one can frighten you?"

"Exactly."

"And you don't think this might encourage challengers? People who think they're quite capable of instilling fear…"

"_**I**__ am the Master of Fear_!"

"Quite," Jervis agreed quickly, "but the price of being the best… is _having_ to be the best. You see?" Jonathan cocked his head in a manner that reminded Jervis forcefully of a raven and it was all he could do not to recite 'Tweedledum and Tweeedlee'.

"What… precisely… do you mean?" Jonathan finally asked.

"It's human nature." Jervis waved his hands expressively. "You tell people not to do something… they won't be able to resist it. If something… or someone… is supposedly unattainable, don't you just want it desperately? Tell them you can't be frightened, they'll do anything to scare you. You'll be more of a target than ever." He watched as Jonathan apparently considered this.

"The imp of the perverse, you mean?" he murmured. Jervis nodded his agreement. As Jonathan said nothing else he added,

"I just think you should give more consideration to your future… after the Bat's out of the way." Jonathan snapped back to himself.

"And I suppose you have?" he sneered.

"Certainly." Jonathan was curious despite himself.

"Oh? What's your grand plan then?"

"Well, naturally I'll need a supply of funds first," Jervis explained. "But then I'd like to retire somewhere secluded. Away from the Bat and anyone who might wish me harm. I'd be very tempted to return to the English countryside. Some residence far away from curious over lookers. Or maybe a deserted island far away would be safer. Then I could spend my days at leisure… maybe work on a few new circuit designs… read all my old books…" Jonathan watched Jervis as he drifted into a daydream about his 'idyllic' future. The psychiatrist in him recognised the utopian ideal of Jervis' plan… ie an unrealistic ideal that was impossible to achieve.

But why should it be impossible?

He pondered it as he returned his attention to his carefully laid plans. Others before them had fled persecution and set up comfortable lives in secluded places. And really it was only here that they were persecuted. Well, perhaps Metropolis as well, but Jonathan was thinking much further afield.

If they had enough funding, why couldn't they settle somewhere where they weren't recognised? Somewhere that didn't have a swollen so-called hero looking out for easy targets. Jonathan was certain he'd find plenty of professors interested in his expertise. How many people had such an intimate and detailed knowledge of fears, phobias and paranoias? And he was sure that a lot of people would be willing to overlook exactly where that expertise came from in exchange for his chemical know-how. Why, it'd be easy to turn his formulas around so they could be used to _help_ people with phobias.

The idea was a strange one to Jonathan and he felt Scarecrow shiver at the idea. But really, when he was free from all the people who'd ever tried to bully him, and when he had no need to worry about making ends meet… why not take a turn as a hero? An eerie grin spread across his face at the thought. 'The Eminent Professor Jonathan Crane – the Vanquisher of Fear!" He thought of the look on the Batman's face when Jonathan was receiving the praise and gratitude of a fawning multitude.

He laughed suddenly, making Jervis jump.

"Whatever is it?" Jervis asked nervously, knowing that anything that made Jonathan laugh probably meant ill for someone.

"Heh, Just imagining the Batman's face when my grand plan reaches fruition." Jervis sighed.

"Really Jonathan, I sometimes believe you don't listen to a word I say."


	35. Time For You To Answer

Jonathan felt strangely cheerful. Arkham was in many ways like a typical childhood home to the crooks. Of course they all wanted to move out and get their own place, but there was something reassuring about being back in your old room. Plus he had a new project to entertain himself with. How to terrify Lock-Up? His mind was buzzing with ideas for new lessons in fear to be learnt, though at the moment he was merely whiling away his time by irritating Arkham's newest resident.

Everyone else were currently either enjoying free time or sitting in session with their doctors… everyone who Jonathan considered anyone at any rate… so he and Bolton were alone in their corridor. Lock-Up, because he couldn't be trusted with the other residents, and Scarecrow, because he'd only just been brought back and his medication hadn't had a chance to kick in. Though Jonathan couldn't see Bolton's cell down the corridor, he remembered the positioning from when he was so unceremoniously escorted back to his own cell.

Naturally he'd been annoyed at first to be brought back. The Batman had spoilt his carefully planned grand scheme and interrupted his chance to unleash all manner of terror on the city. So Scarecrow had been dragged back literally kicking and screaming. But on his return Jonathan had been pleased to see Harley. She was one of the few people he almost, well… liked… and it had reminded him of some of the benefits to being back.

First was the chance to network with the other criminal masterminds. It paid to know what the competition was up to. Then there was the relaxation aspect. Though all the inmates at Arkham desired their freedom, they'd be the first to admit it came with a price. It was no fun being hunted by an aggressive flying rodent. At least in Arkham they could plan their schemes in peace. So why then, he wondered, did he resist coming back so strongly?

Well naturally there was the timing of his return. He hadn't chosen to come back. He was pre-emptively forced back before he was ready. His scheme had been in place, ready to go, when the Bat got in his way. He'd been planning to terrify all the social elite of Gotham. Those smug men and women who believed themselves safe in their grand mansions. People who'd always had it easy… exactly the sort who'd abused their status over the less fortunate boys at school…

He'd only needed Bruce Wayne to complete his plan but instead he'd got Batman. So that was frustrating.

Then of course there was the manner of his return. It would be one thing to come back, head held high, having pulled off a criminal coup. It was quite another to be brought back in restraints under the watchful eye of Gotham's biggest bully. Doubtless he'd have to enjoy the others jeers next time they met to discuss their relative successes.

And that brought him to the final reason he wasn't keen to come back so soon… though he found it difficult to admit. His… friend… was still on the outside. For someone so used to relying on himself it was something of a surprise to find a pang of irritation at being separated from someone. Jervis would have understood.

Still, at least he'd found a way to pass the time.

With a languid stretch, Jonathan stopped rapping repetitively on the pipework. After over an hour of that, Bolton's teeth would surely be on edge. Scarecrow had something much more interesting in mind for the ex-guard but he had to prepare the victim first. Luckily, Scarecrow's reputation had not been damaged badly by his latest capture and the other Rogue's had agreed to his plan for Lyle. Of course any entertainment in Arkham was usually welcomed and especially anything centred on a common enemy. All he had to do was wait for evening.

Softly he began to sing 'Danny Boy', keeping beat with taps on the pipe in his cell. In his mind's eye he imagined Bolton fuming in his prison unable to stop Scarecrow. Gradually the others were escorted back. A few glanced across to Jonathan and grinned. He kept up his soft singing, not loud enough for the guards to shush him but loud enough to ingrain itself into Lyle's mind. Then he stopped.

Slowly the other inmates settled down and lights were put out. Jonathan kept perfectly still and quiet. Everything now was down to Nygma.

They'd managed to converse briefly in code earlier and for once Jonathan was grateful for Edward's intellect. He was confident no-one else could have interpreted their conversation and also that Edward would have understood completely. It all depended on whether he could also exert any influence with the night guard.

As the guard patrolling their corridor came level with Jonathan's cell, he held his breath. A beam of light swung in and landed on him. He blinked in the light and cursed the fact he was therefore unable to see the guard's expression.

"What's this?" the man exclaimed theatrically and Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief. "Scarecrow's gone!"

The beam of light turned to shine straight down the corridor and the guard strode quickly away. Jonathan slipped silently across his cell to press his ear closer to the corridor. All along the alley, the other Rogue's were doing the same.

"Lock-Up!" he heard the guard exclaim. "How could you let this happen?"

"What?"

"We put you in here… with them… to watch over them… thinking you'd be on _our_ side!"

"I am!"

"But now, under your very nose, the fearful Scarecrow's escaped!" Jonathan grinned to himself.

"That's impossible!" Lock-Up protested. "He's been causing a ruckus all afternoon…"

"Tch," the guard clucked derisively. "Of course that was to cover his escape." Jonathan imagined him shaking his head sadly. "And we thought you were our very own Argus… all seeing…" Jonathan frowned. Surely Bolton wouldn't buy this ham acting?

"I tell you he can only just have escaped… if you act quickly…" Bolton was interrupted by a sigh loud enough to be heard along the corridor.

"It seems we were mistaken in you." A sound of grating metal echoed along the corridor as the guard closed Lock-Up's view hole in the door.

"No!" he screamed. "No!" The sound of his cries echoed behind the guard as he made his way back down the corridor. He didn't look again at Jonathan but now Jonathan could see him he saw he was rustling some notes in his hand.

As the cries of outrage and anger echoed along the corridor, Jonathan slunk back to bed. He settled himself as best he could on the thin mattress and listened with a smile to the screams getting hoarser.

Yes, he was pleased to be back, he thought as he slowly began tapping on the pipe again.


	36. They're Getting On Very Well

As Jonathan was led into the rec room, he looked about for the Mad Hatter. His criminal cohort had been returned a few days previously but as yet they hadn't had a chance to catch up. Naturally Hatter had had to spend a few days being settled back in… but Jonathan had expected to see him by now.

With a frown he sloped over to join Riddler in front of the TV. Edward glanced across to him but mercifully said nothing. Jonathan leant back and idly looked at whatever Nygma had opted to watch. Probably a game show. However his attention was caught by the news article being reported.

His face glued itself to the screen and his eyes stared even as his long fingers were digging into the arms of their settee. Beside him, Edward Nygma watched his reaction with interest.

"What did the sofa ever do to you?" he asked in amusement as Jonathan's knuckles whitened on the arm rest.

"That's Jervis' technology," Jonathan spoke in a low, deadly voice. Edward looked up at the screen. Buddy Standler's agent was trying to explain the comedian's bizarre behaviour. Or at least confessing he _couldn't_ explain his bizarre behaviour.

"But Hat's in here with us," Edward pointed out rationally.

"I know," again Jonathan enunciated his words very carefully. "But isn't it strange he hasn't joined us for free time? And why should Jervis be targeting a comedian?" Riddler looked back at the screen and Jonathan could almost see his mind working.

"A comedian who happens to be a judge at this year's Laugh-Off… where our friend Joker was rather unceremoniously kicked out last year."

"Precisely."

"So you think…" Riddler began but Jonathan was already stalking off. Practically the whole room turned to watch as he headed straight up to the duty doctor, Dr Bartholomew.

"What is it Scarecrow?"

"Where's Jervis?"

"That's hardly any of your concern."

"But I _am_ concerned," Jonathan hissed. "Have you seen him today? Spoken to him?"

"We didn't have a meeting scheduled today… not that it's any of your business. Now sit back down or I'll have the guard escort you back to your cell." One of the guards moved closer in what was obviously meant to be a threatening gesture.

"And does nobody check the patients if they don't respond?" Jonathan stared at the guard. He shifted uncomfortably under the glare.

"The guards check the patients every morning, you know that Crow."

"I know they're _meant_ to," he didn't remove his eyes from the guard who had now begun to visibly sweat. Despite himself, Dr Bartholomew turned to the guard as well.

"You did check Jervis this morning?" The guard glanced at the doctor before nervously looking back to the Scarecrow's deadly gaze.

"Er…of-of course."

"You're lying," Jonathan whispered. The guard gulped but a knock at the door spared him any further interrogation. He quickly hurried over and let Dr Leland into the room.

"Dr Bartholomew," she casually walked over and nodded to Jonathan before continuing to speak to her colleague. "The Batman just arrived. He's determined to speak to your patient."

"Jervis?" Jonathan queried. Dr Leland looked up at him.

"Yes."

"Good." Without another word, Jonathan turned and stalked back over to the sofa. Joan frowned as she watched him go.

"What was that about?" she asked Bartholomew.

"I… I'll explain later." He headed out the door to go meet with the caped crusader.

Back in front of the TV, Edward watched Jonathan's return with interest.

"Any reason you're so concerned?" Jonathan spared him a dismissive glance.

"Besides the fact that Joker shouldn't be allowed to steal any of our methodologies without so much as a remonstrance?"

"So, you're saying if it were _my_ MO Joker were using you'd have given the doctor the same death glare?" Jonathan glanced again at Nygma.

"Jervis has monothanatophobia," he replied simply. Edward looked confused but let the subject drop. He knew better than to start any discussions of phobias with Crane.

They were still sitting watching the TV when Dr Bartholomew brought Jervis to the rec room.

"There we are Jervis," he gestured round the room. "Plenty of people here." Jervis looked round nervously before making his way across to Jonathan and Edward.

"There you are!" Riddler exclaimed. "Crow thought something had happened to you." Jervis flinched slightly and looked between the two of them as he sat down. Up close he looked unusually pale.

"How are you, dear child," Jonathan asked in a soothing voice. Hatter only nodded and turned away.

"What…" Edward began to Jonathan but the lanky individual held up a hand to silence him.

"Were you happy in prison, dear child?" he continued. Edward was surprised to see a tear roll down Jervis' cheek as he turned his head again.

"Speak can't you?" Jonathan asked.

"They're getting on very well," Jervis murmured. Jonathan nodded apparently satisfied. Riddler looked between the two of them.

"Are you alright?" he queried, though whether he was speaking to Crane or Tetch wasn't clear. Jervis looked over to him with a slight smile back on his face.

"His name is Haigha," he remarked. Edward looked up to Jonathan who was now apparently engrossed in his own thoughts.

"Hare?"

"The other Messenger's called Hatta."

"Ah, this is from Alice in Wonderland?" Riddler suggested. Jervis frowned irritably.

"No. Alice Through the Looking Glass."

"I must have two, you know," Jonathan interrupted suddenly. "To come and go. One to come, and one to go." Jervis clapped his hands delightedly.

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"

"The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts," Jonathan replied. Jervis bit his lip nervously.

"We should all have our heads cut off," he said dubiously. Jonathan waved a hand airily.

"Nonsense." They stared at each other, Jonathan obviously trying to convince Jervis, until Jervis gave a theatrical sigh.

"We _must_ have a bit of a fight."

"That _proves_ his guilt," Jonathan nodded, apparently satisfied he'd won the argument. Edward continued to stare at the two of them and then muttered venomously,

"I hate you two."

* * *

This chapter is focused round the episode "Make 'Em Laugh". Jonathan uses lines from Lewis Carroll to firstly reassure Jervis, then to discuss a secret plan… much to Edward's annoyance.


	37. Guard Against The Bites Of Sharks

Jonathan planned everything with meticulous care. Jervis let him. He'd been feeling vulnerable since Joker had managed to fix one of his own mind control chips onto him. The feeling that someone else had control over him…

Thinking about it he should have been equally upset by Crane exerting his own dominance over him. Ordering him about while they orchestrated their escape. But there were some very important differences. For a start, Jonathan was trying to help him rather than abuse his technology. And for another, he trusted Jonathan.

The plan itself had surprised Jervis. Not so much for any ingenuity it involved but more because Jonathan… the Scarecrow… had come up with it. It was so delightfully outlandish. It had made Jervis smile. Plus, it depended on the help of others, and not just any others, but _female_ others.

When the time came they enlisted the help of Harley. Jervis had always been fond of Harley and though he never admitted it, he knew Jonathan was too. She was more than happy to occupy Joker's attention while they set up their 'show'. Despite all her outward appearances she was actually highly intelligent and quickly understood what they wanted.

Unlike Harley, Joker's thugs were hired for size rather than brains so it was child's play to slip mind control cards on them. It helped that they were unsure how to deal with visiting Rogues. To punch or not to punch. It was Jervis' idea to use them to set up. Why should they do all the heavy lifting when they had such helpful puppets?

By the time Joker returned with Harley, everything was in place.

"What's this?"

"It's a surprise Puddin'," she leapt gracefully onto the stage. "A little show, just for you."

"Is this one of your ideas," he asked suspiciously.

"Nah. Actually it was…" she suddenly bit her lip. "But they said if I told you it would spoil the surprise." He flopped down into a chair.

"Alright then. But this better be amusing." She grinned happily.

"Ahem. Presenting… a Tale of Control and Terror. I give you… Tweeddledum and Tweedledee." The make-shift curtains clumsily parted and his two goons stepped up beside Harley. They'd been dressed in matching stripy outfits.

"Tweedledum and Tweedledee agreed to have a battle." Both thugs dutifully produced clubs from behind their backs. Joker sat up interested.

"For Tweedledum," she gestured to her left. "Said Tweedledee," she spun so her hand pointed the other way. "Had spoiled his nice new rattle." Tweedledum swung his club and swiftly knocked Harley out. Joker laughed. A recorded voice continued the narration.

"Just then flew down a monstrous crow," Joker jumped as a huge shadow flew over his head. "As black as a tar-barrel." He replaced his gun as he realised it wasn't the Bat and laughed as the gigantic bird's outstretched wings collided with the heads of his thugs. They fell onto their broad backsides and their propeller hats spun off their heads. Joker continued to laugh.

"Which frightened both the heroes so," the voice continued as a cloud of gas burst from the crow's mouth directly into the faces of the thugs. "They quite forgot their quarrel." The men's faces drained of colour as the toxin took effect. They stared at the Joker still laughing away, but it wasn't a man they saw anymore, but a rabid hyena. With a scream they both leapt at him.

He managed to duck out the way at the last second and the two goons collided again. They stared at each other with confused expressions then began to swing their clubs at each other. Joker scarpered outside and caught his breath in the alley.

He should be angry, he knew. His lair had been invaded, his girl had been knocked out, his goons were beating each other up and now he was standing outside in the cold. But it was just too… damn… funny. He laughed.

He was still laughing when the police pulled up, no doubt attracted by the continued screams and crashes coming from inside. He easily slipped away from _them_. However he couldn't avoid the Bat so easily.

"Alright Joker," Batman spoke behind him on the roof. "What's going on?"

"Did you ever have a song stuck in your head?" He turned to face the Dark Knight and began to sing. "Dance little baby, dance up high. Never mind baby, mother is nigh. Cr…" he was cut off by a solid uppercut.

"I don't know what your plan was this time but you're going back to Arkham." Joker began to snigger.

"If you're going to play rough, I won't play."

"That's fine by me." He dragged Joker up and led him away, still giggling.

In a room not far away, two concealed figures watched proceedings. The taller one was listening attentively to the screams still echoing from below. The shorter one was frowning after Joker.

"What was that about? Dance little baby, dance up high. Never mind baby, mother is nigh."

"Crow and Caper. Caper and Crow," Jonathan continued. Jervis' eyes widened as realisation dawned.

"Oh, I say. That's rather good."

"Hhm?"

"Caper… capper… Hatter. He was telling Batman it was Hatter and Crow." Jonathan snorted.

"Just as well he's too dense to appreciate it." They headed out and away from the excitement.

"Thank you, Jonathan," Jervis said quietly. The taller man stopped abruptly.

"Huh. I've got to go get some of my things." He gestured vaguely. Jervis nodded. He didn't want to embarrass his friend with his gratitude. And Jonathan probably did need to seek out another stash of his fear toxin.

"Okay. We'll catch up tomorrow maybe?"

"Maybe. I might be busy with plans but... maybe." Jervis nodded again and Jonathan promptly turned to slink off into Gotham's dark alleyways.


	38. Though They Were Mine Before

Jervis knew Jonathan well enough by now to understand that he required space after any show of friendship, affection or even gratitude. So he spent the next few days finding a new hideout, hiring help, and generally arranging those few essentials he needed in his life. But after a couple of days of industrious activity, he had a respectable retreat and nobody to show it to. He decided it was time to invite the March Hare to tea. A grin spread across his face as it always did when he mentally compared Jonathan to the mad rabbit.

Of course, locating Scarecrow might prove difficult. The Rogues were hardly listed in the phone book. However there were some generally accepted rules. Naturally, they didn't favour suburbia… they all had too much zest for life for that… and each Rogue liked to stick with their own theme. Joker would always be in some comedic venue… Pamela would be somewhere green… and Jonathan would be someplace the timid dared not go.

This all meant that someone with a good understanding of the criminal in question stood a good chance of tracking them down… and that person was usually the Bat. Jervis wondered why then they stuck with this rather obvious routine, though he instinctively knew the answer. Because it was in fact a game, and games always had rules. It was like not using another's modus operandi. It simply wasn't sporting for Riddler say, to hide in a haunted house… though, Jervis frowned, some villains needed reminding of this rule occasionally.

But it also gave an added element of both risk and cunning. Risk because it limited the possible choice of hiding places… cunning because it was all the more thrilling for that when you managed to choose a location that was the last place the Bat would look.

Jervis considered Jonathan's possible choices of hide away. The haunted house in the fairground would be a favourite, along with the supposedly haunted house on the edges of the upper class residential district. However he could also settle for any number of warehouses, or similar derelict sites, simply for convenience. Jervis could take his pick and check them all, but far quicker would be to head into goon territory.

The henchmen were a mystery to most of the Rogues. Ordinary types who, for whatever reason, hired themselves to the criminally insane to take part in schemes they couldn't comprehend. Jervis didn't understand what they hoped to achieve. In the ordinary criminal gangs they might gain prestige, respect and eventually rise to leadership themselves… but what did any of them hope for from the Joker? He wouldn't share any wealth and could just as easily kill them for his own amusement. The only benefit Jervis could see was that if you worked for one Rogue, the others generally left you alone.

To Jervis' mind, they must have been in a miserable existence for that to seem an attractive option and he generally avoided them. For his own help he simply chose from the endless supply of individuals encountered in the streets of Gotham, generally choosing those least likely to be missed. This had the added benefit that he could pick his help according to whatever criteria he currently required. He never advertised and his help were never consciously aware of him at all.

However, he was aware that the others advertised their positions… though how this was done, he had no idea. But when you needed to find someone, you went either to the Penguin, or amongst the goons at the Stacked Deck with your ears open. Since Oswald was currently in Blackgate, that left Jervis with only the goons.

He was somewhat hesitant on entering the sleezy bar… it was hardly his usual type of establishment… but he garnered barely a glance. In fact, he felt almost as though he were invisible. It was an unfamiliar sensation to him now though he had previously been well acquainted with it. As he sat down in a seat by the pool table, he reflected that the sensation was different now. Liberating rather than inhibiting.

He smiled contentedly and watched three of Joker's ruffians as they relaxed. More importantly he listened to them.

"So, who'd win between Ivy and Harley?"

"Ooh, there's a match up I'd like to see," smirked another.

"Ivy. No question."

"Don't underestimate Harley," the second speaker grinned. "I heard the boss say she has quite a bite." They all laughed

"Alright," the first guy grinned again. "What about Ventriloquist and Hat?" Jervis' ears perked up.

"You mean Wesker or Scarface?"

"Or both?"

"Both," clarified the first.

"Then Ventriloquist. If it were just Arnie then Tetch could take him but with Scarface…"

"What about if 'Crow were there?" the third suggested.

"Nah!" the second waved this aside. "Ain't you heard? 'Crow's changing tactics."

"Yeah," the first echoed. "He's moving on up. Heard tell he's mingling with some upper class business guy. Staying in a penthouse suite and everything. Up in Gotham Heights." He gave a sing-song tune to this last bit.

Jervis got up with a frown and stalked out.

Well, really! If he'd ever thought about hiring henchmen, this little insight would have changed his mind. He stormed out of the dock area and headed towards Gotham Heights. They'd really been quite rude.

As he walked, he began to calm down. What could one really expect from a mere pack of cards after all? They knew nothing about him, or Jonathan… though they had at least provided him with a location. Albeit not a very precise one but he was confident a few well placed questions would narrow down his search. A new resident in such a desirable residency always caused talk.

His mind turned to this new development. What would Jonathan be doing in such a public location? It didn't fit his usual profile at all. Though Jervis had no doubt Jonathan would fit in well… he was quite excellently educated… yet in all their conversations Jonathan had always expressed disdain for the pampered rich socialites. They had no drive, no interest in learning.

Still, he thought with a smile, Jonathan could tell him all about it. Preferably over a nice cup of tea.


	39. If I Or She Should Chance To Be

Jervis was beginning to get angry. He'd appreciated that Jonathan's changed surroundings would require a different etiquette… but he was being treated like some commoner! He'd expected to encounter the usual henchmen and breeze his way past as usual. No goon would ever dream of stopping a well known Rogue… they might _try_, but they'd know it was effectively suicide. However he'd been met with the far more sophisticated mafia gangsters. Henchmen of the criminal families of Gotham and not simply hired muscle. He'd hesitated, knowing there was a delicate balance to maintain with these other city's villains. The Falcones, the Maronis, and Rupert Thorne, all had considerable power in the city and it wasn't sensible to aggravate them.

So there'd been some tension while he patiently explained he was wanting to visit Scarecrow. His patience had begun to wear thin as they pressed _why_ he wanted to visit him and for a while he feared they'd be stuck in that stalemate forever, since he didn't particularly feel like explaining he was getting bored on his own. However, in a clearly diplomatic side step, they'd led him into some sort of meeting room and asked him to wait.

That had been half an hour ago and Jervis was seriously considering storming out and searching the building for Jonathan… damn the consequences!… when he felt a breeze from the door opening silently and shivered. He turned and stopped in shock.

The figure that had entered was someone Jervis didn't feel he knew. Tall and broad, he looked like he'd escaped the hangman… _after_ the hangman had done his job and was in the process of burying him. Jervis shivered again and saw a slight smile twitch the lips of the person in front of him.

Everything in Jervis' mind screamed that this was **not** his friend. He was certainly tall enough… but Jonathan wasn't that broad… and the whole aura surrounding him was so much darker… yet… it _was_ Jonathan's M.O. Certainly Jervis didn't think he'd seen anything quite so terrifying.

"Jonathan?" He was ashamed to realise his voice quavered slightly. Scarecrow turned away from him now and wandered across to look out of the penthouse windows.

"What do you want?" The voice was guttural and low. Air escaping from a grave and it sent another unpleasant shiver down Jervis' spine.

"Well… I just came to see you, is all." The sinister figure turned to stare chillingly at him.

"And why should you think I'd want to see you?" Jervis felt his mouth drop open and for a moment he couldn't think. Jonathan didn't help. The deadly eyes continued to watch the Mad Hatter without offering any help whatsoever.

"I… well… is this about the… thing with the Joker?" Jervis queried hesitantly. Scarecrow frowned.

"What?"

"Well… I know you don't like open shows of friendship… but I did appreciate the assistance…"

"My new look has nothing to do with you… or the Joker… or anyone else," interrupted Scarecrow irritably. "I work alone. I thought everyone knew that?" Jervis had the impression this last question wasn't entirely directed at himself, but he was getting rather confused by Jonathan's sudden attitude change.

"I know that Jonathan. But you've always been happy enough to chat with me…"

"Well I'm not anymore." Jervis felt as though he'd been hit with a brick.

"What?"

"I don't need your help and I don't want your company. If that's the only reason you came… you may leave."

"But Jonathan…" Jervis hesitated, unsure actually what he could say, and Scarecrow took over again.

"And don't call me Jonathan. It's Scarecrow."

"Scarecrow," Jervis repeated, fixing his eyes on his current companion. He knew both Jonathan and Scarecrow quite well… better than anyone, he'd thought... though he was reconsidering that now… but this person sounded as much like Scarecrow as he did Jonathan.

"What's happened to you?" he murmured.

"Nothing's happened to me!" Jervis stepped back as the suddenly terrifying figure lurched towards him. "I've assumed my rightful place in this city. At the top." Jervis frowned, his mind racing. Jonathan, or Scarecrow, had never cared for their social position. In fact, he'd always despised those that thought of nothing _but_ their position in society. The jocks and cheerleaders of the world. So why was he suddenly interested in mingling with the upper classes? Jervis shook his head.

"You've changed."

"Perhaps," Scarecrow agreed, stepping back and considering the Mad Hatter again. "Yes, perhaps. You can go now. But tell everyone, the Scarecrow's not playing second fiddle anymore. Everyone will respect me now. Everyone." He turned and walked back towards the window. Jervis watched him a moment longer before turning quietly to the door. Before he left though he replied quietly,

"Not everyone."

After the door shut behind him, the room fell silent. The tall figure stood looking out across the city, as still as the grave, until one of the henchmen came in and hesitantly approached.

"Did you want us to… deal with him?" For a moment the silence continued. Then with a rasping breath Scarecrow murmured.

"No. Let him go back to the others. But let's send him with a message. Dose him with the scientist's distortion potion… we don't want any other Rogues getting the idea to pay their old friend Jonathan a visit."

* * *

This new look Scarecrow is from when the animation changed in 'The New Batman Adventures'.


	40. Involved In This Affair

"Edward!" Riddler jumped in alarm at the cheerful British voice.

"Jervis? What are you doing here? And more to the point, how did you get in?" Jervis waved this concern away.

"What's a few locks and bolts between friends?" Riddler eyed him warily.

"Right… and _why_ exactly are you here?" Jervis flashed him a cheshire cat grin. Never a good sign.

"Why! To see you of course."

"Right," Edward drawled. He recognised all the signs warning him that Jervis was dangerously close to an edge of some sort. There was the too full grin, the abnormally wide eyes, the determination in his poise… things could go downhill rapidly if he wasn't careful.

"Well… it's obviously nice to see you," he hazarded. Jervis gave a little hop and a clap.

"Come, we shall have some fun now!" Riddler smiled nervously.

"Yes… urm… wouldn't it be _more_ fun if the March Hare were here?" He realised at once that he'd said the wrong thing. Jervis' expression darkened and his smile disappeared.

"The Dormouse fell asleep instantly, and neither of the others took the least notice," Jervis recited firmly, staring pointedly at Edward. It was strangely the most threatening thing he'd ever heard.

"Urm… okay?" Jervis continued to glare at him, making him nervous. "Jervis? Has something happened to Jonathan?"

"He denies it… leave that part out…" Jervis put his hands to his head as though trying not to listen.

"Are you okay?" Riddler didn't dare approach him and actually stepped back when the Mad Hatter looked up with his wide grin back in place.

"It's always six o'clock now," he declared. Riddler blinked as he struggled to keep up with Jervis' oscillating mental state.

"Six o'clock?" He had a sudden idea and smiled brightly. "Tea time! Time to move down," he suggested cheerfully. Jervis clapped happily and Edward firmly began propelling him towards the door.

"Let's all move one place on." As Riddler pushed Jervis outside he smiled enthusiastically.

"Exactly! Why don't you go see the Queen of Hearts? Hhhmmm?" And he quickly shut the door on the Mad Hatter.

***

"The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, all on a summer's day…"

"Harley!" Joker yelled. "Is that you singing? It's terrible!"

"It's not me puddin'."

"The Knave of Hearts, he stole those tarts, and took them quite away!" The criminal duo looked up to see Jervis wander into their Ha-ha-cienda.

"Hat!" Joker grinned cheerfully. "Look Harls. We've got a guest."

"Hiya Jervis."

"They told me you had been to her, and mentioned me to him," Jervis said happily. Joker frowned.

"Right. Harley? Is he always like this?" She wandered over to Jervis.

"Tetch? You feeling alright?"

"And gave me a good character, but said I could not swim."

"Couldn't swim heh?" Joked mused before an evil grin spread across his face. Harley noticed and stood protectively in front of Jervis.

"Puddin'. Don't even think it."

"If I or she should chance to be involved in this affair," Jervis began before Joker spoke over him.

"Harley." His tone was distinctly dangerous. "You know I owe him and Crow for that little trick they pulled…" Jervis' voice rose into almost a scream.

"An obstacle that came between him, and ourselves, and it!" Harley and Joker looked at Jervis' suddenly angry face.

"I don't think he's feeling exactly himself Mistah J." Joker walked over to look closer at Jervis.

"You know, I think you might be right Harley girl. There's no fun dropping him in the piranha tank when he's in cloud cuckoo land." And so saying he headed back to his desk without another glance at his confused guest. Harley glanced at his retreating back before taking Jervis' arm gently and escorting him away.

"Jervis… I don't know what's got into you, but this ain't exactly the safest place for you to be right now."

"He sent them word I had not gone."

"'Kay." She glanced with concern at him again but they had by now reached the door.

"Look, Hat. I'd really like to help you right now… but Mistah J wouldn't like that. Why don't you find Jonathan?" she suggested before carefully closing the door.

***

When the Batman came across Jervis, he was sitting in the park talking to a caterpillar. He was doubly surprised because he was on the trail of Poison Ivy and hadn't expected to see the Mad Hatter at all… especially not talking to a bug. He approached cautiously, expecting a trap but Jervis seemed completely out of it. A thought occurred to the Batman.

"Jervis?" The Mad Hatter gave no sign of hearing him but continued to talk quietly, as much to himself as the insect.

"I can't explain myself, I'm afraid, sir, because I'm not myself, you see." Batman frowned. Clearly Ivy had used the Hatter as some sort of guinea pig for her latest toxin. "Well, perhaps your feelings may be different," Hatter burbled on. "I think you ought to tell me who you are, first…" he trailed off and looked confused. The Batman turned away from the currently harmless Rogue and continued his search for the villainess, convinced she had something to do with Jervis' current state.

Jervis meanwhile, was finally beginning to focus his thoughts.

"Who you are…" he repeated vaguely. "One doesn't like changing so often, you know…" He fell silent and looked about him, his eye finally settling on the skyscrapers of central Gotham.

"I think you ought to tell me who _you_ are, first," he repeated.


	41. He Trusts To You To Set Him Free

Jonathan was brooding. He knew he was brooding and quite frankly didn't care. Things were not going according to plan and he felt the need to think. At least the dark isolation he was currently enjoying was conducive to serious thought.

Ever since his escape from Arkham, he hadn't been in control, and he didn't like that at all.

"Oranges and lemons, say the bells of St Clement's," he muttered bitterly to his only companion. He felt entitled to rebuke his alter ego for once after their recent, seemingly simple, plan had failed spectacularly. But Scarecrow, it seemed, didn't appreciate the taunt.

"_You owe me five farthings, say the bells of St Martin's." _Jonathan scoffed aloud at this. Admittedly, over the years Scarecrow had done an awful lot for Jonathan… and only a few years ago it was quite possible Jonathan would have deferred unquestioningly to him… but now things were different. Scarecrow wasn't the _**only**_ friend Jonathan had ever had and Jonathan was coming to realise _**he**_ had skills Scarecrow simply didn't.

"When will you pay me? Say the bells of Old Bailey." In fact, now Jonathan came to think about it, perhaps if he'd been running things instead of Scarecrow, they wouldn't be in this mess now. He glared around at his dismal surroundings.

"_When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch," _Scarecrow muttered unhelpfully and Jonathan rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms. Right now, for all his mastery of terror, Scarecrow was useless. Jonathan vaguely realised this was probably to be expected when his latest toxin removed fear, but he wasn't about to let Scarecrow off the hook that easily. After all, how often did Jonathan have the upper hand?

"Pray, when will that be? Say the bells of Stepney," he sneered. And for possibly the first time in their partnership, Scarecrow was cowed.

"_I do not know, says the great bell of Bow." _Jonathan fell silent. He'd have liked to gloat over his alter ego… to point out that if he'd done this himself they wouldn't be here now… even to taunt him that Jervis would have made a better partner… but he couldn't. The fact was, everything had gone wrong and he only had himself and Scarecrow to try and fix it.

"Old Father Baldpate, say the slow bells of Aldgate," he said conversationally. Indeed, if they were going to get out of this, they would have to consider the mafia boss, Falcone. They were now intricately involved in the mafia boss' plans and no-one was allowed to walk away from the crime lord. Insane or no, if they had a use for you, they would use you.

"_Pokers and tongs, say the bells of St Johns." _Jonathan smiled at Scarecrow's eager tone. It was a ridiculous suggestion though. Even together they couldn't hope to overpower Falcone. They'd already proved _**that**_. For all his mastery of fear, for all his skill in the subtle art of terror, Scarecrow needed room to manoeuvre. He needed time and opportunity, neither of which their current host were going to allow him. They knew what he was capable of. His reputation meant he could force grown men to cower before he even lifted a finger. _That_ was why he was useful. It was also why he was not allowed to interact with Falcone's minions.

"Pancakes and fritters, say the bells of St Peter's," Jonathan dismissed the other's suggestion with a wave of his hand.

"_Two sticks and an apple, say the bells of Whitechapel." _Scarecrow apparently wasn't ready to concede defeat. Jonathan however, was barely listening. A strange thought had struck him and he wondered aloud,

"Kettles and pans, say the bells of St Anne's." Jervis had come to see him here. He'd been sent away rather abruptly but Jonathan knew the Mad Hatter better than that. Most people saw him as one of the lesser Rogues. Weak, less threatening… and certainly in a sense he _was_… but only because his art was much more subtle. Like Jonathan, Jervis appreciated that sometimes the perfect plan took planning and preparation. What the Mad Hatter had, that very, very few of the other Rogue's did, was _patience_. Patience and determination, bordering on obsessive stubbornness. When Jervis got an idea in his head Jonathan knew it was damn near impossible to shift it. It would fester there until it erupted on an unsuspecting public.

Scarecrow shifted restlessly in Jonathan's mind. _**He**_ would never accept the Mad Hatter's help and he muttered stubbornly,

"_Brickbats and tiles, say the bells of St Gile's._ Jonathan however was no longer listening. He was running through possibilities. Jervis had been rebuffed, would he attempt to contact Jonathan again after that? Jonathan was sure he would. Jervis wasn't someone to take no for an answer. But he wouldn't try the same way twice. He'd re-consider what had happened and plan accordingly. Most likely that would mean a more forceful second approach.

Which, considering Jonathan's current company, meant he ran a very real risk of being killed by the mafia. Jonathan would need to make plans of his own to distract Falcone when the time was right, enabling himself and Jervis to leave their company unscathed. It'd be a dual distraction. The Mad Hatter on the one side, Scarecrow on the other. In his mind, Scarecrow picked up at the thought of an assault on the crime lord.

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed," Jonathan suggested.

"_And here comes a chopper to chop off your head," _Scarecrow chuckled enthusiastically. Jonathan allowed himself a smile. Now, all he had to do was bide his time until the Mad Hatter came knocking.


	42. Exactly As We Were

Jervis had retreated to the very last place he'd thought anyone would look for him. He'd rented a respectable apartment in a decent neighbourhood. One benefit of his indistinctive looks was that few people recognised him as the Mad Hatter. In fact, his wide, ready smile was usually enough to put people at ease. It was yet another difference between himself and Jonathan, he mused as he wandered curiously though the flat. Both of them had the benefit of anonymity… Jervis due to his ordinary appearance, Jonathan because of his use of a mask… but while people were generally reassured by Jervis' childlike friendliness, they were more often disturbed by Jonathan's surly demeanour.

Jervis wondered briefly if such extrovert criminals such as the Joker ever envied them their ability to fade into a crowd. He suspected Joker would never stand for being overlooked… but what of criminals such as Two Face and Killer Croc? Jervis thought that perhaps occasionally, they might envy him and Jonathan their ordinariness. Even as Jonathan often envied them their unmistakable presence.

A frown passed across his face as he stood and looked out across the dark street. Jonathan had certainly had a presence last time Jervis saw him.

People frequently were distracted by his obsession with what most considered to be a silly children's book and they forgot Jervis was actually a highly intelligent scientist. He had however, been caught unawares following his visit to Jonathan. Jervis freely admitted he'd been emotionally hurt by the encounter and therefore had not paid as much attention as he ought have to his escort. By the time he felt the jab of the needle it was too late. He'd spent the next few hours in cloud cuckoo land until he found himself cold, miserable and alone in Robinson Park, with an absolute certainty that the man he'd met was **not** Jonathan.

There were several sound reasons for this belief. Jervis was not foolish enough to believe Jonathan would never hurt him. Friends argued, sad but true. He could certainly suppose that… especially with Scarecrow in charge… Jonathan might for whatever reason lash out at him. And, as his good friend, Jervis was prepared to accept, understand and forgive him for that. But what he was certain of was that if Jonathan _did_ mean to hurt him, he'd do it himself. Not just because they were friends and it would therefore be a personal matter, but because they were Rogues… and Rogues simply didn't leave other Rogues to be dealt with by the hired help.

Add to this various subtleties of behaviour that had struck Jervis as not quite right and he was convinced the Scarecrow was not Jonathan.

However this left him with quite a problem. Firstly, what had happened to the real Scarecrow? It could be that the Scarecrow actually was Jonathan but under some sort of mind control, which would certainly explain the unusual behaviour. But Jervis doubted that theory. As a prominent user of mind control techniques himself, he kept tabs on other criminals with similar techniques, and none of them were likely to be operating in Gotham. It was possible there was someone new on the scene but Jervis didn't think so. Besides, mind control didn't effect the instinctive body language of how someone stood or walked, so Jervis thought he could reasonably dismiss the idea.

He briefly considered the possibility of a shape shifter or body swap… but then why would they have changed Scarecrow's entire look? If they wanted to pass unnoticed, surely they'd have kept his traditional garb. Whoever this Scarecrow was, they'd wanted to make an impression. No-one who met him could fail to be shocked by the change in appearance.

Jervis was rapidly coming to the conclusion that someone was masquerading as Jonathan. Someone who wanted to use his aura of fear. Someone with strong ties to the Mafia. That would certainly explain why some of Falcone's men hijacked the police van taking Scarecrow back to Arkham after his last endeavour, and indeed why Jonathan was working with them in the first place. Jervis knew from personal experience that Jonathan resisted working with _anyone_. He was possibly the most fiercely independent person Jervis had ever met. Not someone who'd willingly aid Falcone.

Which returned Jervis to his original question. Where was the real Jonathan? Clearly not at liberty. He'd never stand for someone using his MO in this way. Taking away people's fear? It was preposterous. Which meant he was imprisoned somewhere. Obviously not at Arkham. The doctors were fools but even they'd notice if they had two Scarecrow's, one inside and one out. Not the Bat either. He'd rough them up and spoil their fun but he was always scrupulously honest. He'd even been known to protest their innocence if they were accused of a crime they didn't commit.

No. The only valid explanation was that Falcone had Jonathan captive. That way they could be sure he wouldn't interfere with their plans. Whatever they were.

Jervis bit his lip. Generally speaking, the Rogues and the Mafia didn't interfere with each other. The Falcones, Maronis and Thornes had their own organise crime, racketeering, and drug deals, while the Rogues each had their own personal agendas. Normally they didn't overlap and everyone was happy. But if Falcone had trapped Jonathan…

Jervis set his shoulders. This meant war. None of the Rogues could stand for something like this. Where would it end? Thorne using Harley's babies for guard dogs? Maroni freezing the opposition with Mr Freeze? No! Jervis would rally the Rogues and make it perfectly clear to Falcone no-one messed with them.


	43. My Notion Was That You Had Been

Carmine Falcone was an intelligent man. However, stood in his penthouse suite looking out across Gotham, he was suddenly acutely aware of the vulnerability of his position. Not in the physical sense… though it was that which had forced the realisation into the forefront of his mind… but he still instinctively wanted to retreat from the over-exposed placement. But being a rational being he recognised that, though highly visible, the penthouse suite was completely secure. So he stood a minute longer glaring out over the sprawl before him before he turned and returned to his ornate desk.

Sitting in the silence of his room, he wondered what suddenly sent that shiver or fear through him. It was true he had enemies all around but that had always been true. To be a Falcone was to be both in a position of power and a target. As the head of his family of course, it was perhaps more true for him than anyone. But why should he have a sense of foreboding now? He had received no ill news… noticed no shifts in fortune… in fact, everything was going to plan.

He allowed himself a small sigh. It was most likely a natural tremor to expect on the eve of a great victory. He had worked hard to reach this point, and now all his plans were coming together, it was of course natural to be wary of anything happening to disrupt them.

And there were a great many things to go wrong. Utilising the Rogues gallery was a bold move and had to be done with great care. Ever since their first appearance, he had seen their possible potential. But working out how to harness that resource was not easy. They were notoriously unreliable. Which was why his rival had never dared use them of course. Maroni was not stupid, but he did not have the courage necessary to be truly successful. Which was why soon Carmine Falcone would be **the** crime lord of Gotham.

He turned to look out the window once more. All great leaders need vision and courage. He wondered whether either of his son's had the necessary drive to take over the family once he'd gone. Neither of them wholly supported his plan to utilise Jonathan Crane's fear toxin. They _understood_ it… he had not raised simpletons… but they didn't appreciate it's potential. They saw only the possible drawbacks. They saw failure where he saw victory. It had nearly caused a feud when his first foray into the Rogue's territory was spoilt by the Bat.

It had been a simple test to see if the scheme was viable. Could his agent mimic the Scarecrow's techniques well enough to convince people it was really the original? And on that front, it had been a resounding success. There was no hint anyone suspected the truth. The only problem had been when the Batman had captured Scarecrow. If the Scarecrow had reached Arkham… well, it would have ruined the Falcone family name. Working with the Rogues gallery could only be tolerated if it brought victory. Otherwise it would be viewed as weakness.

A point made to him by Alberto and Mario when they heard Scarecrow was captured. He feared they had panicked. Thankfully, he was not so easily disturbed. It was but a simple matter to intercept the van and retrieve their companion. Of course, he had to admit he should have expected such a move by the Batman. He was big enough to admit that was an oversight. But it was not a problem. The Batman had weaknesses. All it would take was a strategic attack and he could be neutralised very effectively. That would have to be their next step before he could unveil his partnership with the Scarecrow to his real rival and take over control of the city.

A quiet knock at the door indicated his honoured guest had arrived.

"Come," he called. The door was immediately pushed open and one of his men escorted Jonathan Crane in. Carmine took a moment to survey his guest while they approached. His imprisonment didn't appear to have had any physically detrimental affect which was good. Falcone had given strict instructions that their guest was to be treated with care since they needed his expertise. However his meeting today was to ascertain, as well as he could, how Jonathan's mental state was bearing up.

His choice of villains had been very carefully made. Firstly he'd needed someone whose powers would prove beneficial. Scarecrow's fear toxins were the perfect weapon for the mafia who had always used threats more than violence to get what they wanted. Secondly, they'd needed someone they could intimidate themselves. This was of course the more uncertain area. As Scarecrow, their guest could be quite surly. But as Jonathan… he'd proved quite accommodating.

Falcone eyed him across the desk and tried to judge who he was dealing with today. There was a distinct glare that suggested that Scarecrow was the more dominant personality.

"Scarecrow," he nodded in greeting. A wide grin spread across Jonathan's face.

"Not today," he replied. Falcone frowned momentarily before recovering himself.

"Jonathan then," he corrected. "And how are my men treating you?" The gangly man shrugged but made no reply. Clearly he was in an unhelpful mood.

"And how is your new fear toxin?"

"Fine," Jonathan answered vaguely, his gaze travelling about the room. For some reason this apathy angered Carmine.

"You have not forgotten our… arrangement, I trust?" Jonathan's eyes flashed back to his host's and held them.

"Our arrangement? Oh, you mean holding me prisoner while some interloper usurps my place in the criminal society? Using my expertise to promote your own position?" He grinned as Falcone rose suddenly from his chair and Carmine realised he was being played. Jonathan was a master of psychology and could probably sense the unease which he'd felt moments before. The Mafia boss forced himself to relax and let a smile form.

"Yes," he agreed pleasantly. "And tonight will see another step in the plan. Tonight the _new_ Scarecrow will do what you have always failed to do. Namely incapacitate the Batman."

"Oh?" Jonathan didn't seem surprised at this statement. "And how do you propose to do that?" His careless tone once again brought a surge of annoyance to Carmine but this time he kept it in check. He casually turned his back and looked out the window as he spoke.

"Easily. We'll draw him out with an attack at City Hall, then hit him where it hurts. His precious sidekicks." A snorting sound made him turn and he watched in amazement as Jonathan collapsed into laughter.

No-one laughed at him! No-one!

Before he knew what he was doing he'd stepped forward and knocked the other man to the ground. Jonathan continued to giggle softly as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Ring-a-ring o'rosies, a pocket full of posies. A-tishoo! A-tishoo! We all fall down!"

Carmine stared at the grinning man and felt that shiver of fear again. He'd let his emotions get the better of him and given Jonathan a momentary advantage. With a conscious effort he pulled himself together. The plan would work. Everything was in place. He'd considered every possible aspect.

He nodded to himself and eyed Crane warily. Perhaps it would be better to keep the other man in isolation. He was quite mad and very dangerous. If it weren't for his specialist knowledge…

"Take him back to his room," he ordered.

"London's burning, London's burning. Fetch the engine, fetch the engine. Fire, fire! Fire, fire! Pour on water, pour on water." Jonathan kept singing as he was taken away and Carmine felt unaccountably unsettled by the childish tune.


	44. Before She Had This Fit

Jervis had conceived the perfect plan. He had no doubt that if it was followed precisely, everything would work out wonderfully. Not only would Jonathan be liberated but the Mafia would be made to realise their mistake in thinking they could abuse a member of the Rogues Gallery.

In essence, it went like this – Ventriloquist would arrange to meet Falcone in order to discuss 'business'. That would clear away the big boss. Then Harley and her precious Mister J could launch a frontal assault. Jervis had to concede Joker was good at surprise diversions. He had no doubt the Clown Prince of Crime could hold their attention quite easily and would probably enjoy himself in the process.

Meanwhile, he and Riddler would sneak round the back. Edward had once claimed he could crack any lock in under a minute so Jervis thought he'd be perfect for this. Once inside he was certain they'd have no trouble finding and releasing Jonathan, and if he knew Scarecrow he'd have some surprises ready to leave his host.

There was only one problem with this plan. It relied on the co-operation of his fellow Arkham acquaintances.

Ventriloquist had requested an extortionate fee for his help that he knew Jervis couldn't pay. Arnold had tried to argue that it would surely be worth it to gain such an advantage over another Mafia family but Scarface had dismissed his suggestion and Jervis had retreated before he'd become a target himself.

Joker had not been any better. As soon as he'd realised the plan did not expect any interaction with the Bat he lost interest. Harley tried to bouy him up with promises of senseless violence but he wasn't interested. Then his eye fell on the Mad Hatter with an evil gleam and Jervis had fled quickly.

Edward had been intrigued by the call to his skills and intellect… but as soon as he realised it was to rescue Jonathan, he point blank refused and slammed the door in Jervis' face.

And so he was now eyeing the Falcone stronghold all on his own. In his hands he held a few microchip cards which he fiddled with nervously. In truth his greatest fear was not Falcone's men, or even Falcone himself, but the _new_ Scarecrow. There had been no warmth in that figure. It spoke of pure, unadulterated cruelty. It was in many ways, Jonathan as he'd always wished to be. Untouchable… terrifying… beyond humanity.

A figure approached Jervis' hiding place and he ducked back into the shadows. As the man walked unconcernedly past, Jervis darted forward and slid the control chip swiftly onto his head. The puppet stopped abruptly and waited for a command.

"Turn this way… walk down here…" Jervis hissed quickly. The man obeyed and walked into the shadows out of sight of the building opposite. Jervis eyed him up and down. Not up to his usual standard but needs must.

"Follow me," he instructed him before carefully making his way through a labyrinth of alleys to the back of Falcone's lair. Jervis didn't bother checking to see he was obeyed.

The Mad Hatter was, if nothing else, thorough. He'd been inside the building before and had a rough idea of where he needed to head. But he'd also spent a considerable amount of time monitoring the building from outside, each time using a different guinea pig so as not to arouse suspicion. He knew that every evening the cooks brought out the rubbish to put in the dumpster in the back alley. They were always under watch but that would not be a problem.

"Put this on," he said, thrusting an apron and white shirt at his accomplice. The man silently complied and Jervis continued hissing instructions. "You will hide by the dumpster. When a man comes over and opens it, you will knock him out, throw him in, and assume his place. You will walk up to that building and as you draw level with the man in the doorway put this on his head." Jervis thrust a microchip at him as he spoke. The man nodded once and moved to obey.

Jervis bit his lip nervously. This was a foolish plan.

"I must be mad," he muttered. Just then, the back door opened and one of the cooks headed out with a trash bag in each hand. Jervis pulled himself back as far as he could while still being able to see what was going on. The guard at the doorway was busy lighting a cigarette and consequently didn't notice the brief struggle round by the dumpster. Jervis breathed a sigh of relief as the cook was knocked out silently and thrown into the bin with his own garbage.

He held his breath again though as his puppet approached the doorway. Would the henchmen notice the difference in time? Apparently not. Jervis immediately recognised the stiffened stance of a mind control victim and practically danced across.

"Hey diddle diddle," he sang happily as he slipped inside the building. Behind him, his two willing accomplices followed mindlessly. He glanced about quickly to see they weren't watched before turning to issue more instructions.

"You will walk in front of me, following my directions to the letter. We need to get up to the top floor…" he wondered suddenly why he was telling them that. They didn't need to know anything about the mission. As they stepped mechanically in front of him, effectively hiding him from view, he realised he was starved of company. He desperately wanted someone to talk to again. And soon he would have it.

"Forward," he commanded cheerfully and the odd trio set off.

His original hope to simply find an elevator and ride up to the right floor was scuppered by the building design. No single lift took you all the way up. There was one from the basement to the central levels, then another up to near the top, and a final lift for the penthouse. They only made it to the central floors before another guard spotted them.

"Hey! Kitchen boy! What you doing up here?" Jervis cursed quietly and passed another card to his mafia minion.

"Put this on him," he whispered urgently. The other guard was already halfway towards them when his puppet stepped forward and slipped the card on. The man's expression was mid-change as the control chip took effect. Another second and he might have raised an alarm.

"You," Jervis demanded of his original victim. "Go back down to the rear door and keep out of the way." The man turned and stepped back towards the elevator. Jervis forgot him and turned back to his newest acquisition. "And you, stand in front of me. Form a shield with him and let's go towards the next set of lifts."

They set off again but their progress was slow. At every noise, Jervis had to make them retreat so it took twice as long to cross the building as it should have. He was incredibly grateful when they finally reached the next set of lifts. As the doors opened at the topmost floor though he realised things had just got much harder.

This was the floor beneath the penthouse. This was where the majority of the mafia hung out. He could see the final elevator on the far side of the room but he didn't stand a hope in hell of getting across unnoticed.

It was just as he was giving up hope, that he heard a most familiar voice.

"_London's burning, London's burning. Fetch the engine, fetch the engine. Fire! Fire! Fire! Fire! Pour on water, pour on water_."

As a thick, acrid smoke began to fill the room, Jervis grinned like the proverbial Cheshire cat.


	45. An Obstacle That Came Between

Batman sighed deeply. Today had been one of _those_ days. A day of surprising events, unusual coincidences, and genuine terror.

It had all started normally enough. Scarecrow attacking City Hall. Not very imaginative but routine enough. Or at least, it should have been. When Batgirl had been knocked unconscious, Batman had feared the worst. He had attacked Scarecrow with an unusual ferocity. Even when he'd realised Barbara would be fine, his rage at the crook had been unabated and he'd decided to emphasise the point that if any harm came to his friends, he would be very, very cross. But removing the Scarecrow's mask to drive home his point had shocked even him. For instead of the familiar face of Professor Jonathan Crane, he saw the decidedly unexpected face of Sophia Gigante… daughter of Mafia boss Carmine Falcone.

For a moment he'd been too surprised to comprehend how she came to be masquerading as Scarecrow. But then the pieces fell into place. How better to intimidate rival families than by threatening them with a certifiable lunatic? Not only that, but a lunatic specialising in fear. Of course, controlling such a madman wouldn't be worth the risk, but then why not create your own? Convince people they were the real thing and utilise the reputation.

Which meant of course, that Falcone must have the real Scarecrow captured as no Rogue would stand for an impersonator. Even as he was reasoning this, Batman was swinging towards Falcone's stronghold. Though Crane was undoubtedly deserving of being locked up, it wasn't the Mafia's place to do the controlling. Especially not when they were going to steal his work and possibly were treating him unfairly. Professor Crane needed medical help. He had to be incarcerated at Arkham for his own good.

He saw the smoke long before he reached the building, and knew instinctively it was coming from Falcone's place. He shook his head despairingly. Surely even Carmine Falcone could have seen how this would end? If Arkham and the entire Gotham police force couldn't restrain Scarecrow, how had he thought he could?

The entire upper floors were burning and far, far below Batman could see the firemen desperately planning how to reach the flames. Unfortunately much closer to, he could see people clearly still trapped on the upper floors. He was about to launch a guy-rope when movement in the back alley caught his eye. Two very distinctive figures running from a rear door of the building. If he wasn't much mistaken, the Mad Hatter and Jonathan Crane.

He wanted to launch himself after them but he couldn't ignore the people still trapped in the building. As he swung across to start ferrying people out, he reflected that if Sofia Gigante hadn't incapacitated his aides earlier, he could have used their help now.

Far below, and by now far away, the two Rogues paused for breath. Jonathan had developed a hacking cough from the smoke fumes and Jervis was simply puffed from the sheer exertion. Still, overall he felt everything had worked out rather well.

"It was really rather clever of you to prepare that smoke screen," he complimented Jonathan. The taller man glanced down at him before suffering another coughing fit.

Jervis checked their surroundings. They were somewhere near the harbour… a safe enough distance from the Mafia. Not that he thought Falcone would be foolish enough to tangle with the Rogues again.

When he and Jonathan had left them, the Mafia henchmen had been in utter confusion. Jervis had seen their faces as he'd stepped out of the lift. They wouldn't have been more surprised if the Queen of England had appeared. But as they'd scrambled for their weapons, the rolling haze of smoke had thickened and Jervis had slipped back into the lift.

Just in time too as they'd started firing indiscriminately in his direction. He wondered whether all goons were so stupid? Prioritising shooting the invader to their lair rather than focusing on the obvious fact that their lair was on fire. However he'd been rather pre-occupied at the time with wondering where Jonathan was.

The henchmen had finally realised the danger they were actually in and cries of 'Fire' began to ring out. Jervis took the opportunity to slip back into the room and sneak round the edge. He tied his handkerchief round his mouth and peered into the smog. Various shapes surged past but none were familiar and he felt a sense of panic begin to grip him. He stopped and tried to think – not easy in a room full of Mafia and filling with poisonous fumes.

Undoubtedly, Jonathan had set this fire. But also undoubtedly, Jonathan was imprisoned somewhere. That was why Jervis had come after all. So he'd have set it… where? In an air duct? Or by his imprisoning door? Either way, Jervis would have to look for where the fire was worst before he found Jonathan.

Turning towards the worst of the heat, Jervis edged his way forward. Most of the goons were piling round the lift now, forgetting their intruder and indeed their prisoner, in their panic to escape, so his way was clear. Dropping down low he had a better view through the clouds and saw where there were actual flames licking round a doorway. Most of the door itself had burned away but the surrounding portal was a ring of fire.

Jervis hesitated.

Then his mind filled with memories. Jonathan keeping him conscious when he was concussed during one of Joker's breakouts… challenging Dr Bartholomew when Jervis had been subjected to his own mind control devices… setting up Joker in revenge for using those devices against Jervis… and Jervis dashed through the flames.

The room he entered was full of smoke so his eyes watered and he could hardly see. But the sound of someone coughing drew him to a far corner where Scarecrow was huddled covering his mouth from the worst of the fumes.

Jervis looked round briefly for something to smash the window. His eye fell on the Bunsen burner arrangement Jonathan had used to start the fire at his prison door, but he quickly selected a heavy chair to break their way to freedom.

If only it was that simple. The chair rebounded off the reinforced glass and Jervis cursed the safety features of such tall skyscrapers before suddenly recalling the lit burner. Handling it gingerly, he dragged it by the long lead until he could rest it by the window. Seconds later, which felt much longer as Jonathan continued to cough, and the glass shattered.

Jervis grinned widely and hauled Jonathan upright.

"We're… forty storeys…" Jonathan began wheezing and gave up in a coughing fit. Jervis paid him no mind and dragged him towards the fresh air.

"I came prepared," he said briskly as he clambered up onto the ledge. Jonathan hesitated but followed suit, although he looked distinctly nervous.

"You'll have to trust me I'm afraid," Jervis spoke quickly as he saw the forgotten burner had now set light to the side of the room just below the window. "Just don't let go," he instructed, seizing Jonathan tightly and stepping suddenly off the edge.

Jonathan clung on for dear life as they plummeted groundward but only let out a faint gasp as Jervis' parachute jerked them upwards.

In fact he hadn't said a thing as they gently landed, discarded the 'chute, and fled the scene of crime. Jervis was beginning to worry Jonathan resented his interference, hence his previous reassurance that Jonathan had been instrumental in his own escape.

Then the taller man laid a firm hand on Jervis' shoulder and tried once again to clear his throat. Finally he managed to whisper,

"I knew you'd come." And Jervis smiled.


	46. Which Dreamed It?

Jonathan slunk down into the seat and glared at Jervis across the table.

"This is the worst idea –" he broke off as a coughing fit overtook him. It'd been a week since the incident with Falcone but his throat still felt dry and scratchy. Jervis paid his companion's choking cough no mind as he looked round happily.

"Fiddlesticks," he announced. "How else was I to get a decent cup of tea?"

Jonathan was about to retort when a pretty young girl approached their table.

"Good evening gentlemen. What can I get you?" She smiled brightly, apparently not noticing Jonathan's glare. Jervis however leant forward with his sunniest smile.

"And a good evening to you too my dear. My companion and I should like a pot of tea for two please. English Breakfast."

The girl frowned. "You mean you want a full English breakfast with your tea?"

Jonathan sunk back further and rolled his eyes. He noted Jervis' subtle twitch and wondered if the girl would survive the conversation. The Mad Hatter got rather… irate when he didn't have his tea. Jonathan suspected it was a caffeine addiction of sorts.

"No," Jervis was patiently explaining. "I mean I want a pot of _English Breakfast_ tea. Not Earl Grey or Camomile. English Breakfast."

At this point the girl should have simply noted it down and gone to fetch their order. Unfortunately she appeared to lack a necessary survival instinct for life in Gotham.

"It's a bit late for tea. Are you sure I can't get you gentlemen some wine? We have a particularly fine –"

Jervis stood up suddenly and slammed a hand onto the tabletop. "No! It's always tea-time!" The waitress stepped back nervously but Jonathan realised with faint amusement that she probably still didn't have any idea who she was serving. After all, she hadn't actually fled.

"Ah, I believe I should handle this," a suave voice interrupted them. From behind the slim waitress the more rotund form of Oswald Cobblepot appeared. "Go and tell the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea and scones for my guests."

As the girl hurried away, Jonathan cautiously eyed their new companion. He wasn't overly surprised to see him even if he hadn't really wanted Penguin's company. However in coming to the Iceberg Lounge it was always a risk that they'd run into the owner.

Jervis' mood changed abruptly again as he greeted the tuxedoed Rogue.

"Mr Cobblepot! How kind of you to join us. Won't you sit down?" Jervis slid back onto his own seat and gestured at the chair next to him.

"Thank you, no," Penguin declined with an inclination of his head. "Regrettably I am too busy this evening…"

Jonathan stopped listening as Penguin prattled about his various important guests. The puffed up old bird always liked to flaunt his superior position in society to the other Rogues since apparently going legit but Scarecrow never cared for it. In some ways he felt Cobblepot lived more in fear than ever before now he was trying to maintain such a high position in society. Clearly he'd been concerned as soon as he recognised his two notorious guests. The last thing he wanted was a scene. It gave Scarecrow a momentary pleasure to realise the power they now held over their host but in truth Jonathan wasn't in the mood for any dramatics. Though he would never admit it, he was currently very grateful to be able to pass unnoticed and enjoy a quiet evening.

"Jonathan?" Jervis' voice interrupted his thoughts and he started as he realised the other man must have been watching him some while. Penguin had disappeared and a waiter was approaching with an array of tea things. "Are you sure you're alright?" Jervis enquired, not for the first time.

"I told you," Jonathan cleared his throat briefly as he sat himself upright, "I'm fine."

"Good," Jervis grinned widely and quickly turned his attention to the tea pot. Jonathan stared at him. Jervis had an amazing ability to switch between two extremes, which actually suited Jonathan very well. He hated to be ignored… it was a form of childhood cruelty that Jervis referred to as being 'sent to Coventry' for some reason… yet he also hated to be pandered to. Jervis would show concern but as soon as he was reassured everything was alright, he'd quite happily leave Jonathan alone. Unless he was bored of course.

Thankfully, at the Iceberg, boredom was hardly ever a problem.

The sound of glass smashing drew everyone's attention.

"Righty-ho, ladies and gargoyles, this is a standard break and make… which is like make 'n' break only you'll get broke as we get made."

Jonathan slunk back down in his seat with a sigh as he recognized the Joker's voice. Even the screams of the patrons didn't lift his spirits. He simply wasn't in the mood for violence.

"Jewels, cash, valuables, pretty trinkets, collectable memorabilia –" Harley was interrupted in her list by the Penguin frantically trying to restore order.

"No, no, no! I simply won't have this in my establishment -"

Jonathan closed his eyes and resigned himself to the noise and disruption. Harley was arguing with Penguin… Joker was cackling happily… posh clientele were screaming with the sort of shocked scream that only came from the very privileged when they realised they weren't as immune from life as they thought…

And from across the table Jervis had started calling. "Cooey! Harley!"

Jonathan opened his eyes to see his companion was stood up and waving with a huge grin on his face. Seconds later Harley Quinn bounced up to the table.

"Hiya, Mr Tetch, Professor Crane." She turned and yelled across the room. "Hey puddin'! Guess who's here?"

Joker paused in his assault on a young couple and appeared to consider the question.

"Ash," he replied confidently. Harley frowned.

"Ash? I don't know anybody called Ash. Ash who?" she yelled back.

"Gesundheit!" He cracked up laughing. Harley raised a smile while Jonathan and Jervis shared a look. Joker was clearly scraping the barrel. Hitting the Iceberg, resorting to lame knock, knock jokes…

"Huh, that's real funny Mistah J. But look, Crow and Hat are here!"

Joker stopped laughing and glared across at the three of them. "Swell. I suppose you're robbing the joint too are you?" he growled venomously.

"Actually we were just having tea," Jervis replied somewhat nervously. "Would you- ouch!" He cried out as Jonathan kicked him firmly on the shin. Joker however wasn't listening.

"Time to scram Harley girl. It's been a blast folks." Jonathan saw the huge grin cross the alabaster face and swiftly ducked under the table. "And I mean," Joker continued gleefully while Jonathan yanked Jervis down, "a _real_ blast."

Seconds later the building shook as whatever explosive Joker was using went off. Clouds of debris and smoke filled the lounge and Jonathan felt his throat constrict.

"Come on," he coughed, pulling on Jervis' arm to indicate they should leave too. He covered his mouth with his sleeve as they hurried out the nearest door, which turned out to be the kitchen, and tried to clear his sore throat as soon as they stepped into the back alley outside.

"Damn clown," he muttered as he tried unsuccessfully cough up the dust from his lungs.

The sound of sirens made then both scramble hastily down the alley and they didn't speak again until they were within a safe distance of their hideout.

As they slowed into a more relaxed walk, and as Jonathan concentrated on breathing normally, Jervis glanced cautiously up at him.

"I'm sorry our evening was curtailed so dramatically." Jonathan merely shrugged and Jervis licked his lips cautiously before continuing. "Still it wasn't a _complete_ waste."

The taller man glanced down at him sceptically with a look that more than emphasised his point thus saving him the bother of talking. Jervis grinned and produced his surprise from his exceptionally deep coat pocket.

"I saved the tea pot!"

Jonathan stared.

Then he laughed.

* * *

I'd really like to thank everyone who's taken the time to read this, especially those who've been with me from the beginning and haven't failed in their support. However, after very nearly two years, I think we've now reached the end.

In a Wonderland they lie,  
Dreaming as the days go by,  
Dreaming as the summers die:  
Ever drifting down the stream -  
Lingering in the golden gleam -  
Life, what is it but a dream?


End file.
